A month passed like a long exhale.
Every day, Aric rose before dawn. He trained until his muscles burned, until Quickstep no longer felt like borrowed speed but his own stride. Arcane Slash still left his arms aching, but the crackle of power at the edge of his blade grew sharper, steadier.
At first he stumbled—tripping on uneven stones, dropping his sword mid-swing, nearly setting the straw dummy smoldering. But slowly, painfully, it became routine. Quickstep turned into a blur across the yard, each dash tighter and cleaner. Arcane Slash flared brighter, no longer sputtering like a dying candle but carving arcs of light across his practice targets.
By the end of the month, his body carried the marks of effort. Calloused hands, aching shoulders, bruises along his arms where wooden blades struck during sparring.
[Efficiency check: Quickstep at 96%. Arcane Slash, 74%. Translation: you've graduated from "baby deer" to "slightly competent deer." Progress, Host.]
Aric smirked mid-swing. And when I hit 100?
[Then you'll stop face-planting during pivots. We celebrate with a cake. Or more training. Guess which one's cheaper.]
He laughed under his breath, breathless and sweating. For all the System's mockery, it was right—he was better. Stronger. Faster. But it wasn't enough to swing at wood and shadows anymore. He needed something real. Something that hit back.
That evening, he found his father in the solar. The room smelled faintly of ink and iron dust. Maps and letters cluttered the desk, one corner weighed down with a polished dagger. Cedric looked up as Aric entered, brow arching.
"You're late to supper."
"I trained longer," Aric admitted, his voice tight. He swallowed, then forced the words out before he could lose his nerve. "Father… I want to go outside the walls. Into the wilds."
Cedric stilled. He set his quill down slowly, the faint scrape loud in the silence. "The wilderness isn't a place for a boy still learning to hold a sword. Bandits prowl. Beasts hunt. Even armed patrols don't wander far."
"I know." Aric stepped forward, heat rushing to his face. "But I've trained for a month. I can't keep swinging at straw men. I need… real practice."
His father studied him, gaze sharp and unblinking. "You failed at the shrine," Cedric said at last, blunt as a hammer. "Without a class, the world will not be kind to you."
The words stung, but Aric didn't look away. "Then I'll make myself Strong. I can fight. I will fight. Let me prove it."
[Ooooh, dramatic. Cue applause. You rehearsed that in your head, didn't you?]
Shut up, Aric thought fiercely, though his jaw stayed set.
Cedric leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. The weight of silence stretched until Aric's chest hurt. Then, at last:
"You're not ready to march alone. But… there's sense in wanting the test." He tapped the map with one calloused finger. "The woods near Winterford are thick, but not deadly. I'll send Bran with you for a hunt. If you stumble, he'll drag you home alive."
Aric's pulse leapt. He bowed his head quickly. "Thank you, Father."
Cedric's eyes softened for the briefest flicker. "Don't thank me yet. Come back with more than bruises."
On his way out, Serina caught him in the hall. Her sleeves were dusted with flour, her hands still damp from the washbasin.
"You were gone long with your father," she said, narrowing her eyes. "What did you do now?"
Aric hesitated. "…He's letting me go outside the walls. With Captain Bran."
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut again. "Outside?" She smacked the side of his arm. "Idiot. Do you want your mother to faint?"
"I'll be fine," he said, grinning despite the sting. "Bran will be there."
"That's not what worries me," she muttered, but her eyes betrayed relief. "Just… don't come back half-dead."
[See? She cares. Keeper, Host. Absolutely keeper.]
Aric ignored the System's smug tone, but his ears burned anyway.
Later, as he prepared for bed, Lyanna snuck into his room in her nightdress, clutching a stuffed toy rabbit.
"Is it true?" she whispered. "You're going into the woods?"
Aric sat on the edge of his bed. "…Yes."
She frowned deeply, hugging the toy tighter. "What if something eats you?"
He smiled faintly and ruffled her hair. "Then I'll just have to make sure I eat it first."
She giggled despite herself, then climbed onto his bed and leaned against his arm. "Bring me something back. A feather, or a shiny stone."
"I promise."
When she finally left, the room grew quiet again. Aric lay back, staring at the ceiling beams, his sword resting by the bedpost. Tomorrow, he would step into the wild. Tomorrow, he would test everything.
[Oh, this is going to be fun. Try not to die. I'm only Tier 1; reviving you isn't on the feature list yet.]
Aric smiled faintly. I'll manage.
For the first time, he believed it.