Chapter 4 - Four years passed by

"Everything makes noise when it moves. If you can't hear it, you're just not paying enough attention!" my so-called father's voice boomed across the field. "Now, let's start over! Don't slack off or you might get hurt!"

I sighed, glancing at the wreckage of broken arrows scattered around me. Hundreds of blunt arrows, snapped like toothpicks. Four years. It's been four long, brutal years since I reincarnated into this barbaric family, and if I had to sum it up in one word? Hell. No, wait, Torture would be a better word. The man who called himself my dad had taken a personal interest in molding me into some kind of superhuman warrior, and let's just say, he wasn't taking the "gentle approach."

"I don't want to do this anymore!" - I cursed in my mind, assuming another defensive stance - "Why couldn't I have been reborn as a merchant? I'd build a trade empire, sit on piles of gold, and call it a day. That would be so much easier. I don't want to train anymore."

I tried everything to get out of it. Pretended I didn't have the talent. Acted like I lacked the will. You name it, I faked it. But every time, he'd just grin and say - "If you don't have the talent, we'll make it with hard work. And if you don't have the will, we'll create it! You are a dragon!" - And then he would pat his chest like some kind of alpha gorilla. 

Seriously, does he not feel embarrassed? Dude, you're the emperor, not a barbarian or a street bandit.

Every time I tried to get away, the training would get worse. He'd push me until I could barely stand. After a while, I just gave up. It was clear this wasn't ending anytime soon, so I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to go all in if I wanted even a sliver of freedom from this soldier's nightmare. 

"Remember, if you can't do it this time, we're staying here all night!" - Dad shouted, signaling to his squad of archers like it was no big deal.

Dozens of archers, hidden in the shadows, raised their bows and aimed them at me. Arrows. Aimed at a kid. All under the loving command of my own father. If I were any normal child, I'd be dead meat by now. But no, of course I had to be born with a dragon's bloodline, which basically made me a little tougher to kill and injure. Lucky me, right?

"They're coming," I muttered, tightening my grip on my sword.

Six arrows. Six. I could hear them slicing through the air like wolves closing in on their prey. My enhanced senses picked up everything, the faint rustling of armor, the breaths of more soldiers lurking nearby, waiting for their chance to strike. Inside my mind, I envisioned the angles and trajectories like some kind of hologram, something impossible for a normal human, even more so for a child.

"Left" - I whispered, stepping to the side. My sword swung with a clean arc, slicing the first arrow in half. The wooden shaft splintered in mid-air, hitting the ground with a soft thud. But there was no time to celebrate, the second arrow was already coming for my small life.

"Right," I muttered, spinning on my heel.My sword arced upward, deflecting the arrow with a sharp thwack as its force sent a shiver up my arm. I gritted my teeth due to the pain, unable to block a grown man's attack with a child's body. It wasn't a fair fight, let's be real.

The third and fourth arrows came together, one aimed at my chest, the other at my leg. My body moved based on my instincts. I spun, slicing through one arrow while leaping to dodge the other, before landing like a certain red-suited superhero who got but by a radioactive spider.

"Sixth," I whispered, tilting my head just in time as the last arrow whizzed past, missing my ear by a hair's breadth. 

"I did it!" I couldn't help whispering to myself, my chest puffed with pride. I even started to pat my chest, damn it, not starting that habit.

Huh. Now that I think about it, this is where that stupid chest-patting thing started, isn't it? Well, so much for that.

What? Don't like my comments interrupting your immersive reading experience? Don't mind? Good, let's continue.

After I somehow managed to deflect all the arrows, my dad's voice cut through the silence.

"Good enough, but not perfect." He didn't sound impressed, but I could sense that he was somewhat proud. "You've got a long way to go. You still haven't handled fifty arrows yet. Only when you do can you start learning the family technique."

I forced myself to stand up straight, wiping the sweat from my brow. My father, standing behind the archers, watched me with that signature excited smirk plastered on his face, the kind of smirk you really want to punch off. Not that I'd ever get close enough to land a hit.

"Thank you, Imperial Father," I said, bowing my head, doing my best not to let the exhaustion and frustration leak into my voice. One day, I swore, I'd land a hit on that smug face of his.

"Let's head back. That's enough for today. Your mother's waiting," he said, his smirk deepening as if he could read my mind, telling me to grow another fifty years before trying anything.