After leaving the orphanage, I went home and anxiously waited for my father to return so I could tell him about Marian and the training she was going to provide. My mother, of course, saw right through me and had me play with Ayla to work off not only her energy but mine as well.
I was surprised at how well playing with my sister distracted me from my thoughts. Her laughter was infectious, and her boundless energy pulled me into the moment. Whether we were chasing each other through the yard or giggling over her attempts to catch me in tag, her joy was a reminder of what truly mattered. Every worry I had about training or proving myself seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the pure, uncomplicated happiness of being present with my sister.
These moments with Ayla grounded me, helping me see the importance of balancing my ambitions with the simple joys of life. It was very relaxing to stop and “smell the roses,” so to speak, instead of training to earn a good talent or improve my skills. After that time, I vowed to make sure not to train so much that I lost sight of what was important to me.
Shortly before dinner, my father arrived home, his presence filling the house with a familiar sense of security. My excitement to tell him what had happened bubbled under the surface, but I decided to wait until after dinner, when my mother was busy with Ayla, giving us the quiet and focus needed for the conversation.
“Father, do you have a moment to speak? Something happened today that I wanted you to know about.”
Without a word, I noticed his focus sharpen, likely concerned that something serious had occurred. I quickly explained the events at the orphanage and introduced him to Marian’s involvement, including my suspicion that she somehow realized I had used Identify on her. Her subtle pause and lingering gaze after I cast it made me think she had sensed something unusual, even if she didn’t fully grasp what the skill did.
I also made sure to tell him that she wanted to see us every seventh day to train. When I finished, I sat there and waited for him to respond. He seemed to be going through his status, and if I knew my father at all, part of him was wondering if he could take on a Level 72.
“The part about her noticing your Identify is easy to explain—she probably did. I should have mentioned it before, but in my work, I’ve used it quite a bit. I’ve found that some of the stronger individuals I’ve encountered can sense when something is happening to them. It’s kind of like how some old monsters can feel killing intent directed at them.
“As for her wanting to train you—that’s interesting. I know of Marian; most people just call her The Pugilist. She was an adventurer in her youth and started like most others, but she fought with her body instead of using a sword or weapon. If I remember correctly, though, she didn’t make it to the highest rungs of the guild.”
It took all my focus to keep listening after my dad mentioned an Adventurer’s Guild. The idea of joining one wasn’t just appealing—it felt inevitable. The allure of venturing into unknown territories, conquering challenges, and etching my name into legend was too enticing to ignore. It wasn’t just the classic isekai trope drawing me in, but the promise of freedom, adventure, and the chance to push my limits. After all, isn’t joining an Adventurer’s Guild practically a requirement in another world? Prove your strength, defy expectations, and maybe—just maybe—carve out a path unlike any other.
With the conversation wrapped up, we decided to have a light spar that evening to ease into the rigorous training awaiting us the next day. The session left me energized, yet not exhausted, setting the perfect tone for the morning. As I lay in bed, the anticipation of learning from a martial arts master kept me wide-eyed, my mind racing with the possibilities of what I might achieve.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The next morning, I was up early, my excitement making it impossible to sleep in. By the time we set out for the orphanage, I was already buzzing with questions. As we walked, I couldn’t help but pepper my dad with inquiries about Marian and her exploits, eager for any intriguing details he might share to pass the time and fuel my anticipation.
When we arrived at the orphanage yard, I didn’t see Marian at first, but suddenly my Panoptic Sense picked up a blur coming from behind. Reacting on instinct, I turned sharply at the sound of rapid, deliberate footsteps and the faint rustle of fabric slicing through the air. I moved to block what I thought was an attack—only to find Marian’s face stopped inches from mine, staring at me with a wide grin.
“Well now, you just keep getting more interesting every time I meet you. I’m also happy to see that your prompt. You must get that from your father—guards know the importance of punctuality,” Marian remarked before turning to my father. With a slight bow, she added, “Good morning, my lord. I hope it’s all right that I wanted to at least attempt to pay for the boar your son brought in.”
“Please, call me Ralph. Someone who has done as much as you have has earned at least that much respect from me. As for teaching my son—when he told me about your offer, I think I was more excited than he was. I know how skilled you are, and your style is among the strongest in the kingdom,” my father replied, bowing slightly in return.
Marian smiled at his response. “Well, I guess I should ask—will you be joining the training, or are you going to sit on the side?”
Hoping for the invitation, my father eagerly told her he would join. Thus began one of the worst—and best—days of both my lives.
In books, training montages often begin with running, push-ups, and sit-ups, all leading to the trainer casually declaring that the warm-up is over. Experiencing it firsthand, however, was a stark reminder of just how grueling those 'warm-ups' truly are, and it drove home the physical and mental challenges required to grow stronger. Let me tell you—reading about it in a book does not do it justice.
We began with a “light” jog that lasted almost two hours. Then we stretched every single muscle group we had. Afterward, we moved on to 100-yard sprints. Upon finishing a sprint, we did push-ups until failure, rolled over to do sit-ups until failure, and then sprinted back to the starting line for pull-ups until failure. This cycle repeated for an hour, with five-minute breaks after the pull-ups.
Once that was done, the martial arts training began. We took turns sparring with Marian as long as we could, stopping only when she decided or when we lost the round. She never hit us hard—just enough to sting and show us where we went wrong.
During my fifth sparring session with her, I received the Martial Arts skill. The change was immediate and unmistakable. A surge of clarity swept through me—I could feel my body move with newfound precision, as though the knowledge had been etched directly into my muscles. My stances became more stable, my punches more fluid, and my awareness of her movements sharpened almost instinctively. I’d been defending against her light punches when something clicked. I noticed an opening—one I think she’d been intentionally leaving—and attacked. My punch was smoother, my footwork more precise, and I set myself up better for what came next.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t that an interesting ability you have? Don’t worry; I won’t say anything, but you should make sure others don’t find out about it. Being able to instantly improve a skill isn’t common.”
From that point on, my father and I spent every seventh day with Marian, learning how to fight and pushing ourselves to new limits. These sessions became more than just training—they deepened the bond between us. For me, it was a rare opportunity to see my father as both a mentor and an equal, working side by side toward a common goal. The camaraderie and shared struggles made those days some of the most meaningful in my journey.
During the week, I hunted with either John or my dad, tracking boars through the dense underbrush. The forest was alive with the rustle of leaves and distant bird calls, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Each hunt was a mix of patience and adrenaline, from quietly stalking prey to the sudden burst of action when the boars were within range. The thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of a successful hunt made these moments unforgettable, bonding us through shared effort and triumph.
About a week before I was set to attend Ascension, I finally hit Level 10. I was ready to see what class options I could choose.