Immediately after school, Liam went straight to the training grounds.
A high-tech facility equipped with the latest technology.
Ever since he transmigrated, he had spent most of his time here.
Unlike the dormitory training grounds, the Academy's official facility had runes etched into its walls. These runes not only refreshed the air but also boosted stamina recovery and provided passive healing.
The only drawback was the cost.
The Academy charged an excessive amount of Merit points for access to its equipment and private training rooms.
"Whoooosh…"
Liam exhaled, letting a deep breath steady his racing heart.
He adjusted his grip on his twin axes, sweat streaking his face from hours of relentless training.
The training doll showed no mercy, pressing forward with its sword in a ceaseless assault.
He swung his axe in a brutal arc.
The air whistled as steel cut through nothing.
The doll had already dodged, closing in for a strike.
The miss dragged his body forward, but he twisted, hauling the blade back up for another blow.
BAAAM!
The collision with the doll's weapon sent him tumbling three steps back.
Pain rippled through his arm despite his recent upgrades.
"Wh—"
The doll appeared before him in an instant.
"Focus." He muttered the word under his breath.
The verbal command triggered his unique skill.
Time seemed to slow; the doll's movements became visible, almost sluggish.
Liam's eyes locked onto the weapon's trajectory.
He raised his axes in defense.
SMASH!
His arms trembled from the impact.
The doll followed up with a side kick aimed at his ribs.
He tried to counter, but his body moved too slowly, barely adjusting enough to absorb most of the blow.
BAAAAM!
The force slammed him across the room, skidding to a stop against the wall.
"End training!" Liam shouted.
The doll, leg raised for another strike, froze mid-motion, then slowly returned to the center of the room.
"Argh… it hurts,"
Liam groaned, breathing uneven and shaky, one arm clutching his ribs.
"My strength has improved… but skill still matters more," he muttered.
Ever since he suddenly woke up in Terra, one of the first adjustments he'd made was switching his weapon of choice from a sword to a battle axe.
He had been clumsy at first, but the memories and battle experience embedded in his body gradually helped him adapt.
"Maybe I shouldn't have been so conceited… I should've just left it at F rank," he admitted.
The private training room had let him push the doll straight from F to E—a reckless act of pride.
Just because his rank had jumped through three minor levels didn't mean his skills had.
"No… I did the right thing," he muttered with conviction.
"Only through suffering can I improve fast enough to survive."
Slowly, he rose, feeling the room's restoration magic flow through him. His gaze settled on the training doll, determination blazing in his eyes.
"Resume training," he commanded.
***
Six hours in the training grounds had left Liam's body screaming in protest.
The passive healing and regenerative abilities of his physique, coupled with the room's recovery runes, had helped a lot during his session.
They not only extended his training from four hours to six but also significantly cut down his resting time.
Still, none of it eased the soreness.
"Ughh,"
he groaned, shifting in the stiff train seat. Every muscle protested.
'We're past the novel's first arc… deep into the academy arc,' he thought,
"And judging from today's scene, I still have three months before anything life-threatening hits… three months. Plenty of time—or not enough.."
His gaze fixed on the mirror-like window of the train. Scenes flashed before his eyes.
"I have knowledge," he whispered, voice low. "Now I just need the power to use them."
He flexed his hands feeling superhuman strength surge unnaturally through his veins,
A wolfish grin tugged at his lips. The sensation was addictive—too addictive.
"The first step is done… now for a weapon's art," he murmured.
His eyes flicked to his band. 21:26.
An hour before curfew.
Only a handful of students remained on the train, mostly like him, bodies exhausted from the training grounds.
He sank deeper into the seat, letting the quiet hum of the train lull him, as the dormitory district grew closer with every passing moment.
***
When Liam got off the train, his stamina had recovered somewhat.
His muscles ached less as he slowly made his way to his room.
His room was in the left wing—the area designated for first-years.
Each door bore a number, each room different from the next.
The higher the floor and the lower the room number, the better the accommodations: larger spaces, in-built private training rooms, and extra amenities.
Lower floors offered only the essentials—necessary furniture and a modest space to live in.
"At least I get a space all to myself," Liam murmured.
At Aries Hall, there were no shared rooms, no matter how high the room number or low the floor.
Reaching the second floor, he walked down the hallway until he arrived at his room:
F2 / R087.
As the 1,287th ranked student out of 2,000 first-years, this placement made sense.
His room wasn't high-tech and lacked a personal training area, but to him, it was enough—he liked it.
The moment he opened the door, his mood shifted.
A hollowness settled in the pit of his stomach, which he tried to blame on exhaustion.
He stepped inside slowly, but paranoia crept in, twisting into fear.
His heart thumped in his chest.
Instinctively, he raised his guard and scanned the room quietly.
That's when he noticed it—a shadow flicking in the corner of his eye.
'An assassin? That can't be right. I'm at Kingsfield.'
His mind raced.
'A thief?' he considered.
'But I've got no valuabl—'
The thought of the ring jolted him.
He braced for combat.
Fatigue weighed him down,
yet adrenaline surged through him, sharpening every sense as the shadow closed in on him.