Chapter Forty-Eight: Fifteen Years Later

Fifteen years later...

On a vast plain, a handsome youth stood quietly, gazing at a training ground in the distance. On that field, young men swung their simple wooden swords, pouring sweat into their exertions. They had divided themselves into several groups, each training within its own area. Depending on their affiliations, the content and intensity of their training varied greatly; some still wielded wooden swords, while others had already taken up specialized weapons. Among them were men who exuded a faint scent of blood, fierce as seasoned soldiers or criminals who had killed, radiating an aura of brutality.

Hundreds trained on the grounds, the noise echoing, creating an impressive spectacle. Seeing this, Artis nodded gently, observing the flow of fate in this place. Above the field, thick white energy surged and gathered, coalescing into a crimson current of luck, sharp and spreading outward in all directions.

“Nadir, what do you think of it now?” Artis asked the middle-aged man beside him.

The man wore leather armor and carried a longsword, a deep scar slashed across his face, lending him a fierce appearance. Yet now, as he faced Artis, he showed deference. “At this level, it is already stronger than the armies of most lords.”

Artis nodded, then sighed. “Though we have spent over a year training them, providing food, equipment, and the best possible conditions, this is still only a regular army. If this force faces the troops of other lords, it might fare well enough, but against the armies of city-state kingdoms, it stands no chance. Nadir, do you know why?”

Nadir hesitated, surprise flickering across his fierce features before he considered, “Is it because the armies of the city-states have many knights?”

Artis nodded slightly, gazing at the training ground where hundreds toiled. “In battles between city-states, noblemen abound. These nobles may be branches of great families, they may be downfallen, their status low, but they possess something our privately trained soldiers lack.”

“You mean battle energy?” Nadir responded quietly.

Artis nodded, continuing, “Even a fallen noble can provide enough for the men of his household to train properly. As long as their ancestors have passed down the secrets of battle energy, they have the chance to learn. Most may only become knight retainers, but even that far surpasses commoners.”

“In a commoner’s household, when meals are scarce and every day is spent struggling to survive, where is the strength, where is the energy to train? And the most crucial battle energy techniques are passed only among nobles. If they ever spread, it is only in secret among beneficiaries, never to ordinary folk.”

This was, in essence, a monopoly not unlike those of ancient times in his previous life, but the monopoly here was far more unbreakable.

Unlike book knowledge, which could be easily disseminated, the practice of battle energy was inherently demanding—at least three full meals a day, meat at every meal, and ample time to invest. These were things no commoner could hope to possess. Moreover, the training itself was difficult. For a man who had never been educated, with no mentor to guide him, success was nearly impossible.

All this, combined with other factors, resulted in a world where supernatural power was monopolized by the nobility. No matter how fiercely the commoners resisted—even if they rose in revolt—their fate was always to be crushed.

“However...”

Artis turned to look ahead. Hundreds still trained in the field. In his vision, faint sparks of spirit appeared, slowly perceptible to him. By his senses, every person here had barely reached the minimum standard for learning battle energy—though just barely, it was enough.

He turned his gaze to Nadir. On the man’s body, a white-tinged-with-red current of luck gathered, and at its center, a deep red strand streaked with gold stood proudly upon his forehead.

Artis nodded inwardly. Luck of white tinged with red signified knightly strength, while a deep red fate marked with gold meant at least a first-tier limit, perhaps even hope of breaking through to the second tier.

Though such achievement was already insignificant to him, for his current incarnation, it was impressive. After all, the first tier was equivalent to a great knight, the pinnacle of the Narba family, with even the faint hope of advancement.

This man had been discovered by Artis himself—once an old soldier from another city-state, who fled here after killing someone. Artis had found him and promoted him to his guard, putting him in charge of training these hundreds.

Now, it seemed, he had done well.

Artis thought thus, then looked behind him, where another man approached. This one was a middle-aged gentleman, dressed impeccably, who addressed Artis with solemnity, “Young Master Artis.”

“What has happened?” Artis asked directly.

“The Viscount wishes to see you,” the man replied, his tone grave and meticulous.

Artis nodded, then strode out, mounted a horse, and rode swiftly in one direction. The horse moved quickly; after some time, as the scenery changed, a manor slowly emerged, and several servants stood outside to greet him.

Artis acknowledged them with a nod and entered, arriving at a hall where a middle-aged man in a black suit stood, smiling warmly as Artis entered.

“Artis, why so late?”

Artis regarded his father of this life and nodded without hesitation, “I watched the training at the northern field for a while.”

Hearing this, Bagel frowned, addressing Artis, “You’re training those commoners again?”

Seeing Artis nod, a sigh escaped Bagel’s eyes. “Do you realize how much you’ve spent on those people in the past year?”

“Bread at every meal, and always meat—most minor nobles without land cannot afford such. Not to mention the weapons and armor you’ve purchased. If calculated by the manor’s standard, your year’s expenditure equals four or five years’ worth.”

Artis could only smile wryly, addressing Grass, “Father, I believe it is worth it.”

Bagel relented, smiling with relief. “Very well, I trust your judgment. After all, these expenses are earned by your own ability. But while you pursue these things, you must not forget the foundation of our family.”

His expression became serious as he addressed Artis, “You are the most gifted person I have ever seen. Precisely because of this, you must remember: no matter what you wish to do, never cease your battle energy training.”

“You must understand, all external power will one day fail; only your own strength will not vanish. If you are strong enough, even if the whole world turns against you, you can fight your way out alone.”

Bagel gently brushed his chest, revealing faint scars. From his body, powerful battle energy emanated, reaching the level of an Earth Knight.

Artis nodded, and a surge of battle energy arose from him as well, already at the rank of Great Knight.

At his age, to reach such heights—if others knew, even the king of the city-state would be shocked, marveling at his talent.

Sure enough, Bagel trembled, gazing at Artis with disbelief in his eyes. Yet he quickly regained composure, his gaze filled with quiet satisfaction, as if glimpsing some hope.

Above Artis’s head, faint world source energy circled, a thread of weak violet descending, enveloping him in luck. Deep in the unseen core, a fragment of starlight flickered silently, as if influencing something.