Chapter 6 - The Reforging of the Body

Ravensbourne Estate – Training Grounds

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass as Aldric stood at the edge of the training grounds. The Ravensbourne estate's courtyard had been converted into a simple training area over the years, with wooden dummies, archery targets, and a small combat ring used by the household knights.

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms above his head, feeling the slight ache in his muscles. Two weeks of coma had left his body weak, and while he had improved over the past few days, he was still nowhere near an acceptable state.

Aldric knew better than anyone how dangerous a fragile body was. His memories of his past life—years of pushing human limits in both war and science—had taught him the harsh truth. Knowledge was power, but without the strength to protect it, it was meaningless.

His scientific mind approached the problem methodically. He understood muscle deterioration, endurance loss, and the importance of structured recovery. He wasn't just training—he was re-engineering his body, piece by piece.

Today would be his first true test.

Military Conditioning vs. Noble Training

Across the courtyard, a group of young knights-in-training sparred under the watchful eye of Ser Gregory Hale. Their movements were swift, but overly flashy, a hallmark of noble swordplay—designed to impress rather than kill.

Aldric smirked. Wasteful movements. Too much focus on flair, not enough on efficiency.

Traditional noble combat training prioritized one-on-one duels, elaborate footwork, and honor-based engagements. It was utterly useless in true warfare.

He had seen real battles in his past life. There was no honor in war—only survival.

Aldric stepped onto the training field, dressed in a simple tunic and fitted training pants. His previous self might have refused such discomfort, but now, he was focused.

Lucien stood nearby, watching. Lucien had seen Aldric's strange training methods and had grown increasingly curious.

"Warm-ups first," Aldric muttered to himself.

He started with basic dynamic stretches—shoulder rolls, lunges, and hamstring stretches—before moving into the real workout.

• Push-ups – Military form. Controlled movements. Focused on explosive power in the triceps and chest.

• Squats – Perfect balance, feet shoulder-width apart. Strengthening the legs for sprinting, jumping, and prolonged engagements.

• Planks – Core stability. A stronger core meant better endurance in fights.

• Weighted Endurance Runs – Lucien had arranged for sandbags to be strapped to Aldric's chest and back. Simulating the weight of armor.

The knights nearby noticed the odd training methods and murmured among themselves.

"That's not how nobles train."

"Why is he running with weights? What's the point?"

Ser Gregory, however, narrowed his eyes. He recognized military conditioning when he saw it.

Lucien's Skepticism

Nearby, Lucien Ravensbourne, Aldric's older stepbrother, watched in silence. He had grown accustomed to Aldric's odd behavior since waking from the coma, but today, his curiosity deepened.

Aldric's training routine wasn't noble, nor was it knightly. It resembled nothing Lucien had ever seen before.

First, Aldric strapped weighted sandbags to his body—not to swing a sword with, but to run laps around the field. Then came a series of ground exercises—planks, push-ups, squats—all movements knights rarely bothered with.

Lucien furrowed his brow and finally spoke. "Aldric, what exactly are you trying to do?"

Aldric didn't stop his push-ups, his arms moving steadily despite the weight strapped to his back.

"Rebuilding my body."

Lucien crossed his arms. "This isn't how knights train. They spar, they practice forms. They don't… crawl on the ground like this."

Aldric smirked between breaths. "Because most knights don't know how to actually fight."

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "That's a bold statement. Care to explain?"

Aldric finished his set and sat back on his knees. He wiped sweat from his brow and turned his gaze toward the wooden dummies used for training.

"Noble swordplay is all about honor and formality. Flourishes, etiquette, ceremony." His fingers traced the handle of the wooden practice sword beside him. "Real combat? It's about efficiency, endurance, and taking your opponent down before they get the chance to do the same to you."

Lucien scoffed. "You sound like a battlefield soldier, not a nobleman."

Aldric smiled faintly. He had been both in his past life.

"Close enough," he muttered.

Lucien studied him carefully. His little brother—once **weak, soft-spoken, and full of self-doubt—**was now speaking like a hardened warrior. What exactly happened in that coma?

Fundamentals – Stripping Away Waste

By the time Aldric finished his conditioning, sweat coated his body, but his mind was sharper than ever.

Ser Gregory approached, arms crossed.

"You've changed, my lord," the veteran knight said.

Aldric wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Change is necessary."

The knight gestured toward the practice dummies. "Show me your form."

Aldric nodded and picked up a training sword, a heavy wooden blade used for drills.

But instead of adopting the flourishing, noble fencing stance, he took a low, grounded posture. His feet were firm, his movements precise. Every attack he executed had purpose.

• No wasted swings. No exaggerated flourishes.

• Direct slashes aimed at disabling an opponent quickly.

• Quick feints followed by immediate counters.

• Targeting weak points—joints, neck, ribs, rather than parrying endlessly.

Ser Gregory watched intently. This was not noble swordsmanship. This was something else—something lethal.

After several minutes, Aldric finally lowered his weapon.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Ser Gregory was silent for a moment before nodding. "Efficient. Brutal. Effective. But it lacks refinement."

Aldric smirked. "Refinement comes with time. Efficiency is immediate."

The knight chuckled. "You're not wrong. Very well. If you wish to train seriously, I will not treat you as a noble—I will treat you as a soldier."

Aldric's grin widened. "That's exactly what I want."

During the conversation with Sir Gregory, a snicker from a group of nearby soldiers caught his attention.

The Soldiers' Doubt

A small group of household guards stood a few paces away, whispering amongst themselves.

"That's the young lord? Crawling on the ground like a commoner?" one of them chuckled.

"Looks more like a farmer trying to wrestle a pig," another added.

Aldric's ear twitched. He had spent years in his past life commanding men, and he knew the tone of disrespect when he heard it.

Mockery. Doubt. Defiance.

His gaze snapped toward the men.

"Something amusing, gentlemen?"

The soldiers stiffened as Aldric's voice cut through the morning air. They weren't expecting to be overheard.

One of them, a tall man with short brown hair, Darius, stepped forward with an apologetic but unconvinced expression.

"No offense, my lord," he said, "but your training methods are… unusual."

Another soldier, Roland, added hesitantly, "It's not our place to question, but… knights and soldiers have trained the same way for generations. Running in circles and doing stretches doesn't prepare you for a real fight."

Aldric wiped the sweat from his forehead and let out a slow breath.

The same methods for generations? No wonder wars here were fought with brute strength instead of strategy.

He smirked. If they doubted him, he'd give them a reason to believe.

"Fine," Aldric said, picking up a training sword from the rack. "Let's settle this with a wager."

The soldiers exchanged wary glances.

"A wager?" Darius repeated.

Aldric rested the wooden sword on his shoulder.

"We duel. One-on-one," he said. "If I lose, I'll stop this training nonsense and listen to whatever requests you have for a lord."

Lucien arched a brow. "Interesting…"

Darius hesitated. "And if you win?"

Aldric's smirk widened.

"Then all of you will follow my training regimen. No complaints."

The gathered soldiers stiffened. They were confident in their abilities—after all, they were trained warriors, and Aldric was just a noble who had barely recovered from a coma.

But something in his eyes unnerved them.

Lucien crossed his arms and leaned against a fence post.

"This should be interesting."

A Duel to Prove a Point

Darius stepped forward and picked up a training sword. He was one of the more skilled soldiers in the household guard, and a sparring match against Aldric didn't seem like much of a challenge.

The other soldiers and knights gathered around, forming a rough circle around them.

Ser Gregory, the head knight, had also taken an interest in the wager

"Very well," he said, stepping into the ring. "I'll oversee this duel."

Aldric rolled his shoulders. His body wasn't at full strength yet, but this wasn't about brute force.

It's about technique.

Darius took a standard knight's stance—feet spread, sword raised, ready for an honorable duel.

Aldric, however, stood relaxed. No rigid stance, no unnecessary flourishes. Just calm focus.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. He's not moving like a noble duelist. He's moving like… a predator.

"Begin!"

Darius stepped forward with a standard opening strike. Aldric sidestepped effortlessly, pivoting just out of range.

Darius swung again—Aldric ducked low, stepping inside his guard, and struck him in the ribs with the hilt of his sword.

A grunt of pain. Darius stumbled back.

The watching soldiers gasped.

Lucien's lips curled into a smirk.

"Interesting…"

Darius shook off the pain and came at Aldric again, this time faster. But Aldric wasn't trying to meet strength with strength. He let Darius overextend, then countered.

Strike to the wrist.

Strike to the knee.

A final push, sending Darius to the ground.

The duel was over in less than thirty seconds.

Aldric offered a hand.

"I believe our wager stands."

Darius took the hand, breathing hard. His expression was a mix of shock and reluctant respect.

"Yes… my lord."

Aldric turned to the rest of the soldiers.

"Tomorrow morning. Before sunrise. My training regimen begins for all of you."

Not a single soldier dared to protest.

Lucien chuckled. His little brother had changed… and he was beginning to like it.