New Decisions

When Mark woke up, he immediately glanced around and realized that he was in the safe room of their home. His heart was still pounding from what had happened the night before. He took a deep breath, trying to relax, before getting up from his bed and rushing to check if his parents were alright. After checking on them, he sat down with his father, Lucas, to discuss what had happened.

During their discussion, Mark understood that most of the bandits were killed, but some were taken prisoner. But Lucas had kept something crucial from Mark—at least for now. The truth was, after a little. coercive interrogation, they had discovered that these men were not ordinary bandits. They were mercenaries hired by Baron Patrick. Although this was not a near threat, Lucas was certain that a war was inevitable in the next few years. The possibility of it haunted him. He knew he needed to be strong enough to protect his family before that day arrived.

As Lucas was lost in contemplation about the future, Mark couldn't help but remain introspective about that night. He had never felt more powerless in his life. The fear, the powerlessness—it burned in his chest like an irreversible flame. He made a decision right then and there. He was not going to let himself remain powerless. He was going to begin training right away.

The previous owner of this body—before Mark reincarnated into it—had been lazy and completely unmotivated when it came to training. But Mark was different. He knew exactly why he had to become stronger. That same afternoon, he began organizing his training routine. Since he couldn't use mana yet, he only trained in skills that didn't require it.

His training was simple but effective. Every morning, he would begin with basic exercises: push-ups, sit-ups, running—anything that would increase his endurance and physical conditioning. Afternoons were spent on sword fighting, footwork, and hand-to-hand combat. His instructor for the training was Marcus, his father's apprentice knight.

Marcus was irritated at first when he was told to train Mark. He had thought it a waste of time—three years of training a boy who had no command of fighting, when he might be honing his own. But as the lessons progressed, something changed. Mark's rapid improvement surprised him. The boy soaked up each lesson like a sponge, straining to the breaking point each day. Marcus found himself getting more and more engaged. Maybe this would not be so wasteful after all.

The first few months were cruel to Mark. His muscles ached constantly, and his body, not used to such intense effort, grumbled at every chance. He would wake up each morning in pain, but he did not quit. There were moments when he would pass out from exhaustion, and nights when he could barely lift his arms. But he persisted. He suppressed the pain, the fatigue, the creeping self-doubt. He reminded himself of that night—the terror, the helplessness. And he went on.

Evenings were spent learning about the world and the kingdom. Mark learned all he could—history, politics, military tactics. He needed to learn about the world he was in if he was to survive and thrive there.

This was Mark's daily routine. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. He did the same rigorous training day in and day out, never once faltering.

He followed this path relentlessly for three entire years. His physique transformed—he grew taller, his muscles became brawny, and his swordsmanship reached an entirely different level. He was no longer that scrawny, greenhorn boy he used to be.

And now the day finally came. The day when Mark's body would awaken its mana.