Time continued to move forward silently but its ravages were not so gentle as Aric was exposed to a whole array of things that he didnt even consider before. But he endured every moment of it.
Three years.
Three years since the boy who failed to awaken stood in silence beneath the weight of whispers.
That boy was gone.
In his place stood something else sharpened by the ravages of time , but no longer weak.
The training yard of Frosthold had changed.
Or perhaps—it was Aric who had changed, and everything else only seemed different because of it.
Steel rang against steel as he moved across the yard, a practice saber flashing in tight arcs. His footwork was clean, deliberate—no wasted motion, no hesitation. He pivoted, shifted his stance, and flowed into a thrust that would have slipped past a guard's defense.Then he stopped.
[You're slowing down again.]
Aric exhaled, lowering the saber. I'm adjusting.
[You're overthinking. There's a difference. In a real fight, that pause gets you stabbed. Possibly repeatedly.]
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Then it's a good thing this isn't a real fight.
[Keep telling yourself that. One day something out there won't care about your practice pace.]
He rolled his shoulder and switched weapons, setting the saber aside and picking up a spear. The shift in balance was immediate—longer reach, heavier control, different rhythm.
He stepped forward. Thrust. Withdraw. Pivot. Sweep.
The movements were sharper than they had any right to be for someone his age.
Because this wasn't just practice anymore.
It was hard work and repetition layered over years.
Those three years had not been spent in comfort.
Aric had trained with anything he could get his hands on:
Sword, Saber, Spear, Bow etc. Each came with its own discipline. Its own way of thinking.
From time to time he went to outside, towards the forest outside the fort to see the results of his training so the wilderness beyond the estate had become his second teacher.
There, mistakes were not corrected with words.They were punished.Each mistake had cost him something.
[And let's not forget the time you tripped over a root and almost got yourself trampled. A personal favorite.]
Aric sighed. That happened once.
[Once is enough to die, Host.]
"…I didn't die."
[Low standards, but I'll allow it.]
His growth hadn't just been physical.
Every hunt.Every fight.Every risk taken beyond the walls.
It all added up.
Skills followed the same path.
What had once been borrowed power—copied, incomplete—had long since become his own.
Quickstep no longer felt like something learned.It felt natural.
Arcane Slash no longer drained him recklessly.It answered his control.
[Congratulations. You've officially upgraded from "barely competent" to "moderately dangerous." Try not to celebrate too hard.]
Aric huffed a quiet laugh. You could at least pretend to be impressed.
[I am impressed. Just not surprised. Big difference.]
[You've been holding back.]
Aric didn't deny it. I told you before. I'm not wasting them.
[Three years, Host. That's a long time to be picky.]
It's a long time to prepare.
He tightened his grip on the bow.
"I don't want another basic skill," he said quietly. "Not something I'll outgrow. Not something I'll replace."
He looked toward the forest again.
"When I copy again… it'll be something worth keeping."
The System was silent for a moment.
Then—
[Good.]
A pause.
[That's the first smart long-term decision you've made without me dragging you there.]
Aric smirked faintly. "Don't sound so surprised."
[Oh, I'm still surprised. But I'm also… curious.]
About what?
[About what kind of monster you're planning to become.]
The wind shifted slightly, carrying the scent of pine from beyond the walls.
Aric lowered the bow slowly.
Not a monster.
Not yet.
But he was no longer prey either.