I sit cross-legged in the center of the ritual circle, heart pounding as I stare at the glowing crystal in front of me. The room is small, barely big enough for the circle drawn on the floor, and the silence presses in on me, heavy and suffocating. A low hum vibrates through the air, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the energy in the room shifts.

The runes surrounding me begin to glow, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The light from the crystal flares, sending beams of pale blue through the dim room. My instincts scream at me to get up, to move, but I stay rooted to the spot, gripping my war hammer tighter, watching as the ritual takes hold.

The circle hums louder now, like a thousand voices whispering in unison. The room feels like it’s tilting, the air thick with magic that clings to my skin. Then, with a sharp crack, the light intensifies—blinding, searing into my eyes—and when it fades, I’m no longer alone.

Before me stands a woman, tall and imposing, her armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. In her hands, she holds a massive war hammer—nearly identical to mine. The steel head glints with an edge sharp enough to split stone. She’s built like a warrior, muscles lean and corded beneath her armor, and her eyes—cold and calculating—lock onto mine.

The room around us shifts. The walls flicker, then dissolve like smoke. The small chamber transforms into a wide, open space, like an ancient training ground. Targets, dummies, racks of weapons, and stone pillars dot the terrain. It's as if we’ve been transported to a battlefield.

I scramble to my feet, still disoriented. “Where—where am I?” I ask, my voice barely steady. “And who are you?”

The woman’s gaze doesn’t waver. When she speaks, her voice is calm but carries a sharp edge. “You’re still in the ritual circle. The room’s been transformed by its magic to give us space. And I am a copy—a construct based on a Tier 2 human warrior, summoned to train you.”

A copy. The word lingers in my mind. She looks real, feels real, but there’s something too perfect about her. Still, the power she radiates is undeniable.

She steps closer, her hammer resting on her shoulder with casual ease. “You summoned me because the System’s basic training isn’t enough. You’ve been taught to swing hard and hope for the best. But I’m here to refine you. To teach you coordination, timing, and mastery of both your hammer and shield.”

I nod, gripping my weapons tighter. “So what’s first?”

Without answering, she strides toward a rack of shields. She grabs one identical to mine and tosses it to me. I catch it awkwardly, my stance shifting as the weight throws me off balance. She looks me over, sizing me up like I’m nothing more than raw material.

“The first thing you need to understand,” she says, “is that your hammer and shield are not separate tools. They are extensions of your body, meant to move as one. Coordination is key. Most fighters think of their shield only as a means of defense. But a shield is more versatile than that—it’s a weapon. A shield bash can create openings, control the battlefield, and even knock an opponent off-balance. Your hammer’s strength lies in its power, but the shield gives you control.”

I adjust the shield, feeling its weight settle in my hand. “How do I start?”

She positions herself in front of me, her posture relaxed yet ready. “First, we’ll build your coordination. Learn to move both hammer and shield in harmony. Swing and block, strike and parry—your body must learn to respond without hesitation.”

She moves into a fighting stance and demonstrates the motion: her hammer swings in a wide arc while her shield rises to block a counterstrike. It’s fluid, seamless. She moves with the precision of a veteran, every strike perfectly timed with a defensive maneuver.

I mimic her stance, feeling clumsy in comparison. My first swing is slow, and my shield is late to follow, leaving a gaping hole in my defense. I grit my teeth and try again. This time, the hammer lands with a satisfying thud against the training dummy, but my shield arm still lags behind.

“Again,” she says, her voice sharp but patient. “Feel the flow. Don’t treat them as separate. Let your shield and hammer move as one.”

I repeat the motion, focusing on her words. Slowly, I feel the rhythm—the swing of my hammer followed by the rise of my shield. It’s not perfect, but I’m getting the hang of it.

But it’s not enough. The training doesn’t end with a few attempts. Under her unyielding gaze, I swing and block again. And again. And again. Hundreds of repetitions, until my arms ache, until every fiber of my body screams in protest. But she doesn’t relent, and neither do I. Each swing brings me closer to the rhythm she’s trying to instill in me. My body starts to move on instinct, hammer and shield becoming extensions of myself, working in perfect harmony.

“Good,” she says, nodding. “Now, we’ll start with basic drills to strengthen your coordination.”

She sets up two dummies—one in front of me and one behind, summoning the skeletons from beneath the battlefield we stand on. “This exercise will teach you to switch between offense and defense. Strike the first target with your hammer, then immediately turn and block the second.”

I take a deep breath, gripping my weapons. The moment she gives the signal, I swing hard at the first dummy, then spin on my heel, raising my shield just in time to block a simulated strike from the second. It’s clumsy at first—my footwork is all over the place, and my shield is too slow—but with each repetition, my movements smooth out.

Thousands of times, I repeat this drill, feeling the burn in my legs and arms, my feet growing lighter as I shift and strike with increasing speed. Each time, I catch myself wondering how I’ve managed to keep up this relentless pace. It has to be the stats. I’ve grown stronger—unnaturally so—but the thought slips away as another skeleton swings at me, forcing me to react faster, dodge quicker.

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As I continue, skeletons rise from the battlefield, summoned by the same magic that animates this space. Their bones creak as they lurch toward me, each wielding different weapons—swords, axes, spears. They surround me, forcing me to adapt my tactics. I strike down one with my hammer, spin to block a sword strike with my shield, then bash another with the edge of it, throwing the skeleton off balance before crushing it.

There’s a moment, amidst the chaos, where I wonder how I’m still going, how my arms haven’t given out from the sheer force and repetition of it all. I can feel the System’s enhancements—my strength, stamina, and endurance—carrying me through each strike and block—the increased mind attribute allowing me to focus. But there’s no time to dwell on it. A flail-wielding skeleton charges at me, snapping me back into the present.

I lose track of how many I defeat. Hundreds? Thousands? Time moves strangely in this place. I only know that the motions of my body are becoming second nature, that I no longer think about where to place my shield or how to swing my hammer. I just do.

“Better,” she says. “But your stance is too wide. Tighten up. Keep your center of gravity low and balanced.”

She steps behind me, correcting my posture, adjusting my grip. “Your body is your strongest weapon. If you don’t brace yourself, even the heaviest hammer won’t help you. Learn to absorb the impact. Brace yourself before every strike. Your legs should carry the weight, not just your arms.”

I nod, shifting my stance. The next time I swing, I plant my feet firmly, bracing my body for the impact. The hammer slams into the dummy with satisfying force, and when I spin to block the second strike, my shield feels lighter—faster.

“Now we’ll build your reaction time,” she says, motioning to a series of stone pillars scattered across the field. “These pillars will shoot out beams of light. Your job is to dodge or block them while striking the dummies. Keep moving. Do not stop.”

I hesitate for a second, but she’s already activated the pillars. A sharp beam of light shoots toward me, and I barely manage to get my shield up in time. At the same moment, I lunge forward, swinging my hammer at the nearest dummy. The impact reverberates through my arms, and I quickly spin to block another beam.

The pillars fire faster now, the beams crisscrossing the space in random patterns. My heart pounds as I duck, block, and strike, sweat dripping down my face. My muscles burn, but somehow I push through. I’ve been fighting for what feels like hours, and yet, I keep moving, keep fighting. The increased endurance from leveling up must be why I can withstand so much. But before I can think about it further, a skeleton rushes me from the side, and I barely manage to swing my hammer in time.

“Faster,” she calls out. “Your enemies won’t wait for you to catch your breath.”

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to move quicker. My shield and hammer move in sync, each block followed by a strike. I lose track of time as I fall into a rhythm, my body responding without thought.

But the battlefield doesn’t let up. More skeletons rise, their bones clattering as they charge at me. This time, they come in waves, wielding weapons I’ve never faced before—flails that swing unpredictably, halberds with long reach, and clubs that strike with terrifying force. I block a flail with my shield, the chain wrapping around it, but I twist my wrist, freeing myself just in time to strike down the skeleton.

It’s not enough to block and strike now. I have to think ahead, anticipate their movements, adjust my stance to their weapons. And still, the beams of light from the pillars keep coming, forcing me to stay on the move. I fight for hours—or what feels like hours—never stopping, never resting.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the battlefield falls silent. The skeletons crumble to dust, the pillars deactivate, and I’m left standing, drenched in sweat, my muscles trembling with exhaustion.

“How long has it been?” I ask, wiping the sweat from my brow.

“About two hours and a half in real-world time,” she says, crossing her arms. “Here it’s been closer to twenty-five. The manual lasts for three hours of real time, so we still have time left.”

My mind reels at the thought of time passing at a 1:10 ratio. Twenty-five hours of training in just under three hours? No wonder I feel exhausted. But the idea that I can cram this much practice into such a short period fills me with a new sense of determination.

“Now,” she says, her tone softening slightly, “let’s spar.”

She gestures toward the center of the field, and I take my place opposite her. My heart pounds in my chest, but this time it’s not fear—it’s anticipation. I’ve been waiting for this moment.

“Remember what you’ve learned,” she says, raising her shield. “This is your final test.”

I charge forward, swinging my hammer in a wide arc. She blocks effortlessly, using her shield to deflect my strike. Before I can recover, she’s already countering, her hammer aiming for my side. I barely manage to get my shield up in time, the impact sending a jolt through my arm.

The spar continues, each of us moving with practiced precision. I’m faster now, more coordinated. I block her strikes with my shield, using the momentum to swing my hammer in retaliation. It’s not perfect, but I can feel the improvement. Every strike, every block feels more natural, more instinctive.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I land a solid blow, my hammer slamming into her shield. She staggers back, and I use the opening to swing again, knocking her off balance.

She smiles—a rare, fleeting expression—and steps back, finally allowing a brief respite. “You’re improving. But don’t get comfortable. This is just the beginning. I recommend you get the beginner guide as soon as you are able to.”

I wipe the sweat from my brow, my breathing heavy but controlled. “I’ll keep training. I have to.”

She nods, her expression softening just a fraction. “Good. The System can only take you so far. The rest is up to you.”

As the training ground begins to fade, I feel a sense of pride settling over me. I’ve come a long way in just a few hours. But I know there’s still more to learn, more to master. I’m learning. I’m growing stronger. And with every step forward, I’m one step closer to facing whatever’s coming.

The woman fades into the background, her form dissolving as the magic dissipates. But her final words hang in the air, heavy with promise.

“Remember, Gregory. Your shield is just as important as your hammer. Together, they’ll be your greatest weapons.”

And with that, she’s gone. The room returns to its still, quiet state, but I’m no longer the same.

I sit there, cross-legged inside the ritual circle, my body feeling both exhausted and oddly light. The sweat and grime from hours of simulated combat vanish, leaving only the faint ache in my muscles, as if I truly had been training all along. It’s surreal—the contrast between the stillness of the room and the fierce, relentless battle I’ve just experienced. Yet even now, as I sit in silence, the instincts I’ve gained remain sharp, etched into every fiber of my being.