The next day, the squires woke up earlier than the day before, preparing for intense training, and Aris was no exception. He put on his training gear and stood in front of the wooden bed, the harsh truths from yesterday still fresh in his mind." Aris constantly thought, "If I could get more of that meat, I might survive better on the battlefield. But how can I get more? Should I steal it? Is that even possible?" Absurd ideas raced through his mind.
He was not alone in his thoughts about the battlefield; all the squires felt the weight of that fear. The prospect of walking toward death was truly unsettling. Some of them trembled constantly from anxiety.
Most of the squires had endured harsh lives in the slave quarters and were accustomed to suffering. They had seen children their age punished to death, their lifeless bodies discarded without a second thought. But watching death and facing it yourself were two entirely different things.
Some squires tried to mask their fear with bravado. Mark, the tallest among them, scoffed as he adjusted the straps on his gear. "It's just another fight. We'll get through it." His voice carried forced confidence, but the way his fingers twitched at his side betrayed him.
Others stood silently in front of their beds, staring at the ground as if searching for answers in the dirt. A squire named Lyle clenched his jaw so hard it looked painful, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His older brother had been sent to the battlefield nine months ago, and no one had ever heard from him again.
A few prayed to the gods, whispering desperate pleas for protection. Although they didn't know the name of any god, they just prayed. One squire, barely fourteen, clutched a wooden pendant so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Aris observed everyone around him, noting their reactions. Unlike them, he had no illusions. Fear was natural, but it also served as a distraction. He didn't have time for distractions. If he wanted to survive, he couldn't allow himself to be like them; he had to grow stronger.
Although these frightened squires might possess better physical abilities, they were still children mentally and fear froze them like rabbits in a snare.
After ten minutes, the instructor arrived in the dormitory. He looked around and, finding everyone ready, said, "Three minutes to the training ground." Most of the squires thought, 'So this is part of training now,' but none of them dwelled on it. They didn't have that luxury.
Aris also rushed to the training ground, this time using the AI to guide him. The AI made navigating through the darkness of the night much easier. Once he arrived, the training proceeded as usual, but Aris struggled to keep up with the others unsurprisingly.
Most of the squires firmly believed one thing about Aris: he was as good as dead. There was no way someone this weak could survive on the battlefield. Furthermore, before the war, soldiers were required to walk to the battlefield, which was far away. Given his condition, many doubted whether Aris could even cover that distance.
The instructor felt a twinge of pity for Aris. Although Aris had embarrassed him once, but that no longer mattered as he considered Aris as good as dead.
Most of the squires he had trained never lived past their first battle. Those who did were left broken, their bodies maimed beyond repair. The best among them had lost a hand and an eye, reduced to a beggar wandering the city streets.
Standing before the squires, he silently studied their faces. They displayed many emotions, including fear, determination, and desperation, all of which were familiar to him.
They saw him as a cruel, unrelenting instructor. They cursed his methods, flinched under his punishments, and gossiped resentments when he pushed them past their limits. But none of them knew the truth.
He wasn't harsh because he enjoyed it. He was harsh because he had to be.
He had watched too many young squires die screaming, their bodies torn apart because they hadn't been prepared. The battlefield had no mercy. If his training could save even one of them, if it meant one less corpse left to rot in the mud, then he would bear their hatred willingly.
In the end, they would understand if they survive.
As breakfast time arrived, Aris walked toward the food benches. Today's meal was a bit more generous, as he found two pieces of meat on his plate.
Although the knight's promise was fulfilled, Aris still craved more of this meat. He observed the other squires, noting that everyone had more pieces of meat infused with the unknown energy. "How can I get more of this meat?" he thought.
However, no feasible plans came to mind. Stealing was definitely out of the question; he didn't even know the layout of the fortress or how the kitchen operated, and he didn't have enough time to study them since he was required to train all day.
He couldn't manipulate the other squires into giving up their portions either, as they also needed them. As for trading, he lacked anything of equal value to offer for food.
He considered looking for herbs that could strengthen the body although this would require more time, and it wasn't easy to find such herbs but it can be possible to find such herbs. "Anyway it wouldn't hurt to try" he thought as he decided to eat.
After breakfast, Aris and the squires returned to the training ground. Most of them were dejected, but to some, their previous mood returned, like Chris, who began to talk with the others constantly. His behavior puzzled Aris as he thought that "He was either naïve, smart, or trying to cope with his fear through talking.
He didn't dwell on it as he started to warm up for the next training session. The instructor, as always, arrived late and stood before the squires, announcing, "Go get the bows; today we are practicing archery." The squires quickly obeyed and went to the armory to retrieve them.
Inside the armory, Aris scanned the racks of bows, searching for one suited to his physique. However, all he found were standard bows. Still, archery was different from swordsmanship. The bow, though weighty in his hands, felt far more manageable than a sword. At the very least, it didn't demand raw physical strength in the same way.
For someone like him who is physically weak, it was better for him to be an archer than to wield a sword.
The squires gathered at the center of the training ground after selecting their bows, as arrows were already available at the training ground.
They stood fifty meters away from the archery targets, which looked like roughly crafted scarecrows with wooden boards strapped to their chests. Each squire was assigned his own practice target.
Aris held his bow and had twenty arrows at his disposal. He set the arrows aside, took a shooting stance, and gripped the bow with an arrow firmly nocked.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, steadying himself. After a brief pause, he pulled back the bowstring—only for the arrow to tilt awkwardly to the side, making his inexperience glaringly obvious.
Frowning, he adjusted his grip and tried again. This time, his form improved slightly, but it was still unsteady. He inhaled once more, stretched the bowstring with all his strength, and released.
Whoosh
The arrow shot forward only to land several centimeters away from the target.
Aris clenched his jaw. He grabbed another arrow, nocked it, and fired.
Miss.
Aris clenched his jaw as he watched the arrow land short of the target. He grabbed another, nocked it, and fired.
He missed again.
His fingers twitched slightly on the bowstring. He exhaled, trying to keep himself calm;"I can't let frustration distract me" he resolved himself.
The other squires were already landing shots, some hitting the outer rings, others striking near the center. Even the weakest among them showed some degree of competence. But Aris? His arrows didn't even touch the board.
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to analyze.
Why did I miss it fort the third time?
"My grip? No, I had adjusted it as best as I could. My stance? Possibly. Strength? That is a given—my body is weaker than the others." he contemplated. But more than anything, he lacked the familiarity, the instinctual feel of the bow that the other squires had developed over time.
Aris hated inefficiency. Every wasted arrow and every failed shot felt like time slipping away. He didn't have the luxury of slow improvement.
After that, he shot more arrows, and time after time, he missed. The instructor moved through the training grounds, stopping occasionally to correct a squire's stance or grip. Archery required precision, but it also needed a strong foundation. A weak stance led to shaky aim, which meant death on the battlefield.
He adjusted one squire's elbow, nudged another's fingers into the proper position, and gave a short nod of approval when a shot landed near the center of the target.
Then his gaze fell on Aris.
The boy stood at the far left, struggling to even hold the bow steady. His shots were wild, missing the target entirely. His grip was weak, his arms lacked endurance, and his form was outright pitiful.
The instructor sighed, but he didn't step forward.
There's no point.
Correcting the others made sense; they had potential. Even if they weren't great now, they had the strength to improve. But Aris?
Aris wasn't just bad at archery. He lacked the physical ability to make it doable. The bow was a weapon that demanded endurance, stability, and control, none of which he possessed. Even if he improved his technique, his body would never support it for a long time.
Instead of wasting his time fixing Aris's stance, the instructor had a different thought about him. "This one should focus on strengthening his physique.With opportunities, he would have a chance of surviving—if he had more time. But now," he didn't finish his thought; instead, he turned away, directing his attention to those who truly mattered.
Aris continued practicing, but after ten minutes, he hadn't hit anything even once. Then he remembered that he had something the others didn't: Zona. Sensing his thoughts, Zona flared to life and said in its mechanical voice [Analyzing performance…]
Aris waited eagerly for what it would say; after a second, it didn't respond, then he realized something and got into an attacking posture as he stretched the bowstring. Then, as he guessed, the Ai said [Error detected: Inconsistent grip pressure. Adjust hand positioning to reduce shake by 17%.]
Aris stilled for a moment, then slightly adjusted his grip according to the AI's recommendation.
He nocked another arrow.
[Posture imbalance detected. Left foot positioned too far back. Shift weight forward by 8 degrees for improved stability.]
A subtle shift. Another deep breath. He pulled the bowstring again, this time applying the corrections.
Whoosh.
The arrow flew—hitting the very edge of the target. Closer.
The AI immediately updated its analysis.
[Trajectory deviation: 5 degrees right. Adjust elbow alignment to correct aim.]
Aris smiled as he thought "This was it. This is the difference between struggling mindlessly and learning with precision. I have a cheat in this life; why am I blindly trying to be like the others?"Although the AI improved his accuracy, it couldn't make him an expert archer overnight.
It could only refine his posture and grip, mimicking the effects of a proper archery technique. True mastery would still take time and effort.
He took another arrow, adjusting everything the AI had pointed out. This time, he aimed with absolute focus.
Whoosh.
Thud.
The arrow struck the outer ring of the target—a proper hit.
Around him, some squires glanced his way, surprised that he had actually landed a shot.
Aris, however, didn't celebrate. He simply picked another arrow from the ground, listening for the AI's next correction.
[Analysis complete. Marginal improvement detected. Continue repetitions for further optimization.]
A small smile appeared on his face again. With this, he could keep up or maybe even surpass them.
While the others were training through trial and error, he was calculating the fastest route to mastery.