"What? I… I'm staying?"
Leo blinked in disbelief.
Having braced himself for war and packed everything, the sudden news caught him off guard.
Of course, from his perspective, staying behind was undoubtedly good news. The battlefield held the promise of growth—but also a high chance of dying before ever realizing that potential.
And yet, confusion gnawed at him.
Why me?
Even by his own judgment, he seemed perfectly suited for deployment—no family to mourn him if he died, no attachments. A young man like him was, in a cold, pragmatic sense, expendable.
But still—he wasn't going to argue with fate.
With quiet gratitude, Leo unpacked his bag once more.
"Let's meet again, Leo… somehow."
Farewells were brief but heartfelt.
Leo, who had served the longest with Arden and Kenneth, offered a handshake. Others followed suit. These were faces seen every day—yet today, they might be seeing them for the last time.
No ceremony. No grand send-off.
Just two knights at the front, and three hundred soldiers marching out under the pale morning sky.
They passed the gates in silence, leaving behind a castle that suddenly felt hollow.
With most of the guards deployed, the workload on those remaining had increased tenfold.
The usual three-shift schedule was now split into two, and on some days, they worked from sunrise to moonlight. Though there were no immediate threats, the air carried an undercurrent of tension. The question wasn't if something would happen—but when.
Even so, Leo didn't abandon his training.
Having narrowly avoided the front lines, he knew better than to relax.
By soldier standards, he was skilled. But against true danger—even two trained men could overpower him. And now, with barely any time for physical training, he focused his efforts on the one thing he could still do.
Meditation.
Day after day, break after break, Leo immersed himself in stillness.
And on the tenth day after the others left—
– Meditation Proficiency has reached 100%.
Additional effects unlocked. One 'Feather of Ardan's acquired.
"A 10% increase in natural recovery…"
Not groundbreaking—but incredibly useful in a world without reliable medicine.
Even so, this wasn't what he was hoping for.
Leo had aimed higher.
He wanted a step closer to power. To aura. To the martial arts used by transcendent warriors.
Opening his Skill Synthesis menu, he slotted Meditation into one of the slots.
He only had two feathers so far, but it was enough.
Let's start with Ray-style Practical Swordsmanship.
It's an SN-grade, and it complements aura control. The synergy should be strong.
His heart pounded.
Please… let this be it.
He confirmed the synthesis.
The screen dimmed.
– Skill Created: Combat Breathing Technique (SN) / 0%
"Combat… breathing?"
No flashy techniques. No explosions. No flight or mana waves.
But after the initial headache of acquiring the skill, Leo began to see its value.
Breathing played a vital role in every movement. And in a world saturated with mana, proper breathing could amplify one's abilities far beyond the norm.
Reviewing the embedded knowledge, Leo realized: this was not a simple technique.
The breathing pattern shifted dynamically depending on combat posture, opponent, timing—even mental state. Mastery would not come easily.
"Let's try it."
Grabbing his sword and shield, he headed to the dimly lit training yard.
He began with basic swings.
Despite having learned swordsmanship weeks ago, his proficiency was only around 60%. Meditation had taken up all his focus.
Even so, the muscle memory from his skill didn't fade.
"Skills don't degrade. That's… kind of broken, honestly."
Even after weeks of neglect, the sword still moved fluidly in his hand—just as the system had etched into his mind.
Ten minutes passed.
Leo stopped, frowning.
This isn't working.
The breathing technique was too advanced to pair with half-learned sword skills.
So he tossed aside the shield—and instead, activated Ray-style Practical Swordsmanship, which he had mastered at 100%.
"Oh…!"
At first, he felt little difference.
But as he swung, again and again, something clicked.
His stamina held up far longer. Each movement felt cleaner—more efficient. His strikes carried more force without extra exertion.
Minutes turned to twenty.
Sweat trickled down his brow—but his breath was steady.
"This breathing technique… it's real. The effect is real."
He wasn't at the level of mana users or knights. Not yet.
But this? This was a foothold. A path.
"I'll focus on maxing out my sword and shield technique next—then breathing. Once they're at 100%, I can consider another synthesis."
But the real question lingered:
Would he have enough time?
Days passed in a blur.
The once-quiet castle began to buzz again. Not with troops—but with traders, peasants, and opportunists.
With hundreds of soldiers gone, the castle's food stockpiles lasted longer. Supplies were even more abundant—for now.
But beneath the surface, something felt… wrong.
One evening, during patrol—
"Argh!"
"Shut up, you idiot!"
"I told you—start from the back of the head!"
Leo and Kyle exchanged glances.
"…That sounded bad," Kyle muttered.
"Let's check it out."
Turning down a narrow alley, they found a man beaten bloody, surrounded by three thugs.
Blood trickled from his head, and the three assailants—blades at their sides—searched him for valuables.
They were no ordinary drunks. These were lowlifes, opportunists emboldened by the lack of soldiers.
"Huh? Guards?"
"Tch. Guess we'll just have to bury 'em too."
"With all the chaos lately, who's gonna notice a few dead bodies?"
They drew their weapons.
Leo didn't flinch.
He hadn't killed before—but he had fought many times. These men were no match for a trained guard, let alone one with actual combat skills.
One of them—a massive brute—stepped forward, flexing his arms and growling.
Leo turned to Kyle.
"They get hurt, that's not a problem, right?"
Kyle shrugged. "Not at all. Actually… we can kill them. Emergency orders are in place."
That seemed to enrage the thug, who charged with a roar.
"Die!"
Leo sidestepped and casually swung his sword.
A thin arc of steel flashed—and the man's thumb hit the ground with a soft thump.
"AAARGH!"
"MIKE!"
"You bastard—!"
The two remaining thugs rushed in together.
But this was no bar brawl.
They had no formations.
Just blind rage.
"Too easy," Leo muttered.
With two flicks of his sword—precise, clean—both men collapsed, screaming.
Their hands lay severed on the dirt.
"Ugh… my hand!"
"Aaaaaah!"
Leo turned his back without emotion.
"Take care of them, Kyle."
"Got it."
He knelt beside the bloodied victim.
"Hey. Can you see?"
The man's eyes were swollen, but he nodded weakly.
Too injured to walk.
Leo let out a soft sigh and blew his signal horn, summoning backup.
Without waiting, he hoisted the injured man onto his back.
"Let's take him to Grandma Haila."
Kyle nodded. "Best choice. It'll cost a bit, but… he'll live."
They made their way through the torch-lit streets in silence.
And this—this was only the beginning.