Getting changed into a tunic for combat training he found the muscles on his body were lean and well defined which was more to good genetics than any effort. Marcus kept himself at the line of passable for training so he would not be scolded by his mother and have extra training added on which would make being lazy harder. Regardless he sighed as he picked up the metal sword. Though the sword was generous it was more of a metal bar in the shape of a sword with rounded end and the sides were flat. It was rather light to his imagination having expected it to be nearer to five or six kilos but this was closer to two. Wielding it with both hands he let his body guide him as he began to slowly go through the motions of his swings falling into the rhythm that belonged to the body before he woke up in it.
Hearing a dry cough he was brought out of handling his practice weapon as he turned to see a man in more formal training equipment along with a longsword sheathed at his side. He had brown hair tied into a ponytail and a five o’clock shadow with a bright gleam in his green eyes and a grin on his face.
“I didn’t expect the young master to begin warming up already. Normally I find you lounging around until I get here.” The man had a deeper voice than someone with his sunny smile should have as he patted him on the back.
“Instructor Aran, I just felt like needing to get a feel for my sword again.” Marcus replied sheepishly as he stuck a leg out forward to stop him stumbling forward from being patted. “I just realised if I will be going to the academy I should be more diligent in my efforts.”
That made Aran raise a brow. “Looking into applying for combat credits? I’ll be truthful, it's best if you do not bother. No level of talent except someone destined to be Blade Soul could make up for the years you kept yourself at mediocrity. Though it’s nice you decided to show some desire to learn a little more. We’ll go over your basics and then a few techniques I already taught you. Better we spend these three months reinforcing what you know and maybe a new technique or two at most. But first…” With that he took the sword from Marcus’ hand and jabbed a thumb to the track on the centre of the training yard. “Get running.”
Reluctantly Marcus began his basic physical training which mostly consisted of running, push ups, planks and moving heavy bags. The last was to get him used to carrying heavier loads of supplies or even a person considering a part of the academy curriculum included dungeon exploration. Considering he was the eldest son until he eventually took over his father’s place as Count when he graduated he would be leading the expedition teams. Getting an appreciation for the difficulties and logistics allowed a better mind to lead others. Once his brow was slick with sweat and his lungs began to sting he was handed a water skin he gratefully drank from. Looking up, Aran had taken out the training sword and was weighing it in his hand with an amused look.
“I didn’t expect you to grit your teeth through it. Normally you would complain half way through and quit. Take a fifteen minute break to collect yourself and begin doing some stretches.” He left the sword by Marcus' side as he went to do his own warm up training.
Getting the stretches done he picked up his sword and rolled his neck as he stepped onto the marked ring at the centre of the training yard. He began doing practice swings feeling the weight of the blade, how it made his muscles tense and the sensation of it cutting through the air. Practising his strikes Aran would occasionally point out posture or how to adjust his strikes. It was clear Marcus could only really do the basics afterall he seldom paid attention and would never both practise outside of training. Moving onto slightly more complex skills Aran would swing his blade and he was expected to use the appropriate guard to strike the blade away and step in for his own attack. Each attack was heavy but methodical strikes aimed to attack exactly as Aran said he would let Marcus get used to them as he begun showing a little more proficiency in his block managing to raise his sword to counter the oncoming strike he found Aran was slowly ramping up his speed until he failed to block a hit as it just stopped before it smashed into his side. Aran pulled away the sword with a grin patting him on his back as he fell to the floor, his arms, legs and back all aching from being on the receiving end.
“You’ve done well. I can see where we need to work on for the next three months. Firstly we will work on standard defence and counters. Since you have the fundamental strikes down for attack might as well make sure you aren’t just swinging recklessly. Then I’ll show you how to fight using your body to incorporate strikes where appropriate. Finally I think we can afford to use the last month to learn a new technique and revise everything you know. But I will be expecting you to at least try and train outside of the three sessions we have. Is that fair?” He stuck a hand out to help Marcus as he proposed his offer.
“Of course, Instructor. I understand. Is it possible for me to start practising whilst wearing armour? It might be good to get used to the weight.” Marcus asked as he felt himself be easily pulled up by the larger man.
“That works for me. I’ll discuss whether it’s possible to get you some chainmail and a leather jerkin. It’s light enough it won’t heavily hamper you but protective enough lower tier monsters will have a hard time cutting through it.” Aran began to rub his chin as he thought about it. “Though it’s rather late I am glad you have begun to act diligent in your training even if this could be considered last minute cramming. I understand why you acted how you did, it’s not your fault you may not have an inherent talent but with hard work you can climb up higher. Try not to take the Madam’s scolding to heart.” Giving a reassuring smile he went off towards the barracks.
Sitting at the bench he felt grateful for the cool waterskin left on the seat as he began to drink mulling over the words and memories that flowed back into him. It felt weird as if he remembered who ‘he’ was. As if Michael could possibly be someone he as Marcus simply dreamt of and once he woke up could no longer tell… Regardless of whether he was Michael that became Marcus or Marcus that dreamt of being Michael it mattered little. The prophecy of a hero was a legitimate one that was declared nearly a decade ago by the Order of Lucia. The Goddess of Light having brought down her word of the demon king that would rise again from ancient times. Slumbering beneath the world as a rot that festered in its soil would rise again. In recent years the growing intelligence many monsters slowly began displaying was evident of this, moving in groups and humanoids have started implementing crude tools whilst stronger humanoids have begun delving into metallurgy.
His lack of effort for so many years was a mixture of issues. Firstly he felt suffocated by his mother’s expectations. Then there was the constant disapproval and remarks about lacking talent that no amount of hard work ever paid off. As well as his older cousin Blake being a prodigy it only beat how weak he was into him harder. He was grateful he had a strong enough physique which was more so from the fact his father was also incredibly well built. But in the end he stopped trying and he realised it only got worse when his younger siblings were born. By the time they were three both could easily be ready and had shown signs of their respective talents. It also made his mother colder to him as she focused on his younger siblings and refused to let him be a bad influence around them. So he lied to himself and believed because his younger siblings had talent they could take up the brunt of the expectations and be the family successors while he would simply live his life coasting by. Yet he did not want that it felt bitter in his mouth as he looked at the training yard, closing his eyes he remembered years of constantly working as hard as he could to fight and learn till he felt like throwing up or his palms bloody from sword handling.
Tears began to drip from his eyes as he thought about the myriad of fates he could recall from his memories as Michael. Skinned alive, flayed, banished, murdered in an alley and in more than one those damned psychos went after his family too. Yet they were not even given proper acknowledgement, just a simple line at the end of a paragraph that said ‘As punishment for wronging the hero they ensured the bloodline of Vale was thoroughly wiped out’. A line many might disregard but seeing his two younger siblings he was scared what those witches would do to them. But why was it so easy to wipe out his family because of what he did wrong. It made no sense, until it did. Someone else wanted his family gone and those girls were a means to an end. Someone wanted his family wiped out and he was the idiot who set the chain reaction off by having a fragile ego. Michael, no… Marcus swore to himself he would change for the better and would leave the hero alone. That way his family would not get hurt.
Getting up from the bench he picked his sword up. He may not be talented however within the academy you could earn extra credits for each semester through dungeon raids and submitting the materials. Access to better equipment and learning tools would make it so he could cross the line of talent through effort. Every card had to be in his hands for him to succeed and protect himself. Not just from those psychopaths but the enemies of his family that lurked behind the scenes. First thing he needed to do was ensure he got into the academy and did so with a positive reputation. The charity work that he planned on doing on the weekends would help contribute to that. If he recalled correctly each district of the city had its own church because it would also function as a clinic of sorts. He knew the lower west district did food distributions for the poor and would be his best bet considering his family regularly donates to all the charitable foundations in their territory. They help to make up for areas social welfare cannot reach or miss.
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He did not remember when he became lost in his thoughts as he swung the sword but each breath of air felt sweet and the breeze cooled his boiling blood whilst he practised further. Going through the strikes and guards he knew to be good enough to delve into dungeons he had to be faster, cut down on the time each move took and have them flow together. But his strikes felt choppy and stuttered as his mind kept trying to return to his base stance than try and flow into the next strike. So he persisted till his top was laden with sweat and the waterskin ran dry. Looking up, the fading warmth of the sky reminded him it was dusk. Slowly as his eyes roamed the training yard he saw Julia waiting patiently with a glass of some kind of beverage and towel ready for him. Walking to her he tugged his top off too lazy to care for decorum and grabbed the towel startling the girl.
“Young Master, the Madam requested to serve you honey water with some lemon and mint. It’s meant to be a refreshing beverage for you after your training.” He could feel her struggling not to look over his body as she spoke. He was by no means chiselled or laden with a six pack but he had lean muscles and a firm stomach which he supposed was still impressive for someone that did so little.
As he wiped down the rest of sweat he picked his top up and took the drink. “Thank you, Julia.” Sipping the drink he hid his disgust as he hated the taste of mint. Not that his mother would know. “Could you get me a bath ready?” Watching her nod she went off ahead to get the bath ready. Then he remembered his mother had scolded him for his constant requests to the servants and mentioned limiting the amount he had. Julia was his only acting servant. He smiled thinking he should do his best not to make her life any harder as he walked through the manor. It was needlessly large but his great-grandfather had built this once the mines they possessed had made a profit. Back then the family wealth was much smaller and was not padded by the countless jewel mines across the territory. Their wealth originally came from the large amount of monster skins and by-products hunted every year. Yet in search of new chances of wealth, his great-grandfather commissioned an earth mage to sift through the territory for any underground resources. To their surprise, deeper than the normal depth of a mine laid an abundance of materials which led to the expansion of the mines and eventual shift to jewels and precious metals. The most peculiar part of their territory was the worry that such sources would eventually be finite; however what they found after a large mine collapse was that the portions of the mine cut off for a few months had new gems formed inside of it. So it became routine for the patriarch of the family to watch over the shutting of a mine to let it regenerate. However the actual source of regeneration is still unknown. But if Marcus had to consider then that would be most likely the reason for whoever killed his family chose to do so. So they could acquire the coveted territory.
His head hurt taking all of these considerations into account. Entering the bathroom built next to his room he watched Julia hurry out as he entered himself. Stripping off his clothing he slipped into the warm water and let the scent of lavender fill his senses as he looked up at the ceiling.
“What the hell should I do?” Marcus muttered as he began to curse his situation. “Firstly I need to avoid the hero and the heroines that will cling to him. If I do nothing there then I won’t die. Then there's the matter of the bastard eyeing my family territory. I need to get strong enough or at least able to accumulate a personal force to stop such a thing. Managing to kill father would need it to be an imperial order or someone close to the rank of a Legion Lord. “Damn it, I’m meant to become equal to five thousand men in just five years.” He cursed as it was an immense hurdle he doubted even with the knowledge of his life as Michael could even bring him. The only rank higher was a High Divisionary and they were the guards of the king. No nation bothered bringing out their High Divisionaries in actual war as all it would achieve is a pyrrhic victory. “If I want to get more resources I need to enter the academy with more credits, meaning I need to get that charity work sorted and get an instructor’s approval to delve inside dungeons quickly.” There was too much to do and too little time to prepare and with a shoddy body like his own he needed to pick up the pace. Right now the church was his best bet to start and he could work on the rest once inside the academy. Just why did the academy have to preach something as stupid as meritocracy by making it so anything purchasable in the academy was reliant on credits you earnt in classes and extracurriculars. If he could spend gold his allowance, nevermind he shook his head recalling his mother cut his allowance off anyways. It went to his siblings which he supposed was acceptable since they deserved it more than he did. Sighing he realised the bath had begun to feel cold. Drying himself off he got dressed into a nightgown not even bothering to contemplate dinner as he let his eyes shut and his dreams greet him.
He was in a room, it was quiet and the light above was flickering. Laying in bed he felt the coarse sheets under him with a compulsion to get up. His feet pushed against the grime and rubbish littered on the floor as he looked around the room confused. He was back in his old room, the photo of his parents on the bedside table and the window that always let a draft in. Looking at the state of the room he remembered when this was, reaching his chair he pushed it back hearing the squeak of the wheels and how it creaked when he sat down. The belly he had bulged as he sagged back on his seat with familiarity he pressed the button hearing the fans began to hum. However the computer screen behaves oddly, skipping past the login screen he was faced with a single icon of a rose and sword on the centre. ‘Thorns of the Academy’ so he watched as it booted up. No save file, just a ‘New Game’ option so that’s what he chose. Playing through he felt that familiar warmth of comfort playing the hero who does his best and struggles against hardships. In truth he had no idea the game he bought was originally a dating sim, he found a game that simply promised ‘a new world for you to be your own hero’ and he happily entered. Playing the nostalgic story made him grin as his fingers moved over the keyboard, the life-like npc reactions that came from being able to form your own dialogue even if they were harsh or cruel made him smile. It was a world where he was heard and interacted with. Unlike this cold one he lived with no one, not after the. His fingers rested on the keyboard as he saw a familiar face of the arrogant young lord ‘Marcus Vale’ demanding that he relinquish his slot in the newly formed dungeon within the academy territory. Seeing the heroines come forward and interfere until Marcus gave up. Then in the dungeon the supply bags they had been given had a rip on the water skin which ruined the dried foods as well as the potions were heavily diluted. They barely made it out alive of the dungeon running low on supplies. He grit his teeth at how a perfectly simple dungeon became so hard because of Marcus. Then the game continued until he had his hero resting in his dorm room, until a knock came on his door. Natalia, a girl with lilac hair and golden eyes called the ‘Daughter of Lucia’ and heralded as a saint, gave him a warm smile asking to follow her. Behind the screen he was not really moved but he knew his little hero must be excited to have such a pretty girl visit him at night. They moved through the dark corridors of the academy grounds to the dungeons below. Originally the academy had been built atop a large castle and the underground was repurposed into laboratories and storage rooms. However, slipping down one passage the area looked decrepit and out of use. Yet as they reached the end the other two heroines waited standing in front of a cell. A warning appeared on his screen, ‘The Following Cutscene may be disturbing to some viewers. Do you wish to proceed?’. He selected yes and what greeted him was Marcus, chained to the wall still breathing. Though the frailty was not lost from the lacerated limbs and hollowed eye sockets to the blood dripping from his near toothless mouth he reacted to the sounds of him approaching the cell front.
“I-Is that someone?” His voice hoarse and shaky the chains that held his limbs rattled.
“Marcus, did they do this to you?” He asked, as Lux.
Nodding as much as he could, it sounded like he was on the verge of sobbing. “T-They did. Lux I’m sorry for what I did to you. I promise I won’t do anything to you again.”
Another prompt appeared, ‘Save Marcus Vale?’. He was reluctant to select ‘yes’. It was the moral choice but was it the right one. What was to say he did not spread rumours or cause more issues that would lead to this situation all over again or worse, so he chose.
“I’m sorry Marcus but if I save you, you might hurt me… hurt us again.” Lux trembled only reassured by the girls at his side as Marcus let out a growl and splutter.
Blood sprayed the tiles as the hollowed eyes met Lux and then his own behind the screen. “You won’t even save yourself?” The game cut as if his computer lost power and was greeted by a black screen. Yet when he looked into the reflection of himself in that pitch black what greeted him was not Michael but Marcus with his empty eyes and bloodied face.
Bolting upright in bed Marcus clutched his pounding chest before reaching for his face, then his eyes and then his mouth. It was a bad dream but he never remembered the scene having a cutscene. Maybe it did on rare occasions but he failed to remember. His memories of himself as Michael felt odd as if they were limited to only whatever took place in his tiny room after his parents passed. No matter what he tried to think back to it came up blank and he felt scared. Would he have to face the same fate as Marcus… No, looking through the curtains not quite properly drawn letting the moon light his room. He swore to himself he would fix things if not for himself but for his family… at least the family he now had.