Thus, he journeyed to Sunvalley City, the nearest urban center to his orphanage, which happened to house an orphanage affiliated with the knight order of the church. He presented his abilities as a magic knight in hopes of gaining acceptance into the orphanage.
Securing admission was expected, as while his noble lineage once dismissed his talents as inferior, they were merely comparing him to other aristocratic children with more esteemed bloodlines. In comparison to commoners, however, his talents were deemed above average.
However, the orphanage soon discovered that his rate of progress was slower than anticipated, leading to disappointment. They had initially believed they had found a prodigy, only to realize he was a false beacon of genius. Consequently, they rescinded the resources earmarked for Reginald.
Facing the disheartened looks of the knight instructors, Reginald remained unfazed. Such expressions were all too familiar to him, given his past experiences. Moreover, his primary concern was Clarice's well-being.
Yet, he felt powerless to alter the situation. For now, his focus was solely on honing his skills as a magic knight. The mastery of his craft would enhance his strength, elevate his status, and increase his chances of reuniting with Clarice.
Thus, he dedicated himself to daily practice, tirelessly wielding his sword by day and meditating by night. Regardless of the searing heat of summer or the biting cold of winter, he persevered. With the understanding that he wasn't a natural genius, he resolved to bridge the gap through sheer determination.
But... persistence grew increasingly challenging as loneliness enveloped him. Despite his above-average strength, Reginald's mediocre talent left him feeling isolated. While he wasn't subjected to bullying in the orphanage, few sought his company, opting instead to cultivate relationships with those displaying higher aptitude.
The struggle to persist intensified as doubts about his abilities gnawed at him. Each day, as he witnessed only marginal improvements in his skills, he questioned his suitability for his chosen path. Would he ever ascend to a position where he could reunite with Clarice?
Endurance became even more daunting in the face of physical discomfort. Training under the scorching midday sun and meditating through the biting chill of winter nights exacted a toll on his mind and body. Reginald faced numerous trials and tribulations, each one testing his resolve. Yet, just as he teetered on the brink of surrender, memories flooded back.
He recalled Clarice standing before him, her hand outstretched, her voice playful yet encouraging. "What are you doing laying down there? Let's go out and play, you gloom gloom boy!"
He could also hear his past self, before he fully opened his heart to Clarice, attempting to retort with a flush of frustration coloring his cheeks. "Don't call me gloom gloom boy, you... you..."
Observing Reginald's struggles, Clarice softened her voice. "Alright, I apologize for teasing. But I need to rally you up; otherwise, you won't respond. Now, shall we just go out and play?" She extended her hand further.
Unable to resist Clarice's pure smile, Reginald eventually relented, reaching out to grasp her hand.
Reginald, lying on the ground, reached out as if to grasp Clarice's hand, though she wasn't physically present. Despite the absence of tangible support, Reginald found the strength within himself to rise once more. Suddenly, Clarice's voice echoed in his mind, teasing him gently, "What are you crying about, you crybaby!"
In response, his past self's words resurfaced, "I'm not crying, it's just some dust flew into my eyes." As the sentence trailed off, Reginald realized he was echoing his own past, his cheeks moist with tears. Amidst this cascade of emotions, the echoes of laughter—his and Clarice's—filled his ears, their joyous sounds intertwining before gradually fading into silence.
Wiping away the remnants of his tears, Reginald felt a newfound resolve surging within him. With determination burning bright, he resumed his training. In that moment of clarity, he acknowledged the profound impact Clarice had on his journey, her memory serving as a beacon of strength in his darkest hours. With a promise etched in his heart, he vowed, "Thank you, Clarice. Despite your absence, your memory fuels my perseverance. Because of you, I rise from the abyss of self-hatred to embrace a brighter world. No matter what obstacles lie ahead, I will reunite with you one day."
Swish!
His sword sliced through the air as he honed his focus on the subtle flow of aura within his body.
Swish!
Another swing, accompanied by a slight adjustment in the circulation of aura, adding just a fraction more power to his strike.
Swish!
In discussions of talent, the focus often centered on the initial rate of skill improvement during the early to mid stages of development. Typically, individuals experienced their most significant progress early on, with growth tapering off as they advanced, sometimes to a crawl in later stages, indicating minimal advancement.
This pattern led to the common belief that higher initial improvement rates signified greater talent. Reginald's own brother exemplified this notion, his rapid early progress leading others to regard him as a genius with anticipated high levels of achievement.
However, what many failed to recognize was another form of genius. Initially progressing at a sluggish pace akin to a crawl, these individuals gradually picked up momentum. Their improvement rate accelerated steadily, eventually surpassing even the early stages of the first type of genius. This unique trajectory earned them the label of "late bloomers".
Swish!
Due to their sluggish rate of improvement during the initial stages, many mistakenly deemed these late bloomers as worthless and abandoned them. Some of these individuals internalized this belief, resigning themselves to mediocrity prematurely. Additionally, in a world governed by the law of strength, where the weak faced swift elimination, their lack of exceptional skill at the outset left them vulnerable to exploitation and danger. Consequently, many of these budding geniuses were unable to fully realize their potential.
Reginald, however, defied these odds. Despite being labeled as worthless by others, he shrugged off their disdain and forged ahead. While he doubted his own abilities, he recognized that even a modest talent held value, spurring him to persevere. Confronted with threats to his life, he clung to existence tenaciously, akin to a resilient cockroach. All of this was fueled by a singular wish—to reunite with her once more.
Swish!
The late bloomers' slow initial progress stemmed from the meticulous construction of an exceptionally sturdy foundation, akin to the bedrock of a mountain. Consequently, they grappled with concepts, delving into every intricate detail before claiming true comprehension. Unlike others who skimmed over certain aspects or geniuses who grasped principles intuitively without full understanding.
All of these deeply ingrained understandings collectively formed the solid foundation upon which their skills were built, akin to the broad base of a mountain. As the metaphorical mountain of skill ascended, the most challenging aspect was establishing the expansive early foundation. As the mountain rose higher, the base grew narrower, indicating that less comprehension was required because the foundational knowledge had already been laid. Consequently, progress accelerated exponentially until it reached a point of explosive growth, akin to a blooming flower.
SLASH!
As Reginald opened his eyes, he beheld the boulder before him, cleanly cleaved in two. Such a feat demanded the condensation of sword aura, achievable only by those who had attained the rank of level 7 holy knight. Surprising all in the orphanage, Reginald had achieved this milestone.
A sense of satisfaction washed over Reginald as he noticed the recent acceleration in his comprehension. Concepts that once eluded him now seemed within grasp, and the acquisition of new knowledge felt effortless. Yet, he remained undeterred by the myriad of gazes—shocked, admiring, jealous, and envious—that followed him. Just as he had disregarded their earlier disapproval and mockery, their opinions held no sway over him now. His sole focus remained on reaching the heights necessary to reunite with her.
Swish!
It wasn't a conscious effort on Reginald's part to be humble, nor did he harbor any desire to flaunt his achievements. Such thoughts simply never crossed his mind. His only pursuit was continual self-improvement.
Swish! Swish!
Until finally,
BOOM!
The force of the explosion sent the instructor hurtling 200 meters away, obliterating a small hill in the process. Staring at Reginald with a mixture of astonishment and fear, the instructor realized that Reginald had ascended to the rank of level 8 holy knight—a status comparable to that of level 2 wizards or grand priestesses, powerful entities in their own right.
The appearance of a level 8 holy knight from a nameless city rather than the headquarters surprised even the highest echelons of the organization. Yet, they wasted no time in extending an invitation for Reginald to join the Order of Paladins, a prestigious position directly serving under the pope.
Without hesitation, Reginald accepted the offer, recognizing it as the pinnacle of achievement for a magic knight within the Holy Empire. Excitement coursed through him as he realized he could now use his newfound authority to visit the headquarters' orphanage.
And so, he embarked on a journey to the five key orphanages within the headquarters, each tasked with nurturing candidates for saintesshood. However, what he discovered within the confines of the first orphanage chilled him to the bone.
Led by the orphanage director, Reginald descended into the basement, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut. Upon entering the first orphanage, he immediately noticed something amiss—the lifeless gazes of the children, devoid of any spark of vitality. A sense of foreboding settled over him.
Despite his reservations, the orphanage director extended an invitation for Reginald to stay the night, promising a "surprise" later. Reluctantly, Reginald agreed and retired to one of the room in the basement. Despite being located in the basement, the room was luxuriously decorated rivaling that of the best hotels in the capital city.
As the clock struck midnight, two timid girls, dressed in revealing attire, timidly entered his chamber. The memory of a level 2 powerhouse lent him clarity, allowing him to recognize these girls as the lifeless figures he had encountered earlier. Yet, now their eyes bore a different expression—not lifeless, but tainted by nervousness and fear.
He closed his eyes, grinding his teeth so fiercely that the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. Reginald's fists tightened into unyielding knots as his blood surged alongside his divine power, a storm of anger threatening to engulf him entirely. The urge to unleash his wrath upon those accountable, to seek retribution for the innocent, surged within him like a relentless tide.
The mere contemplation of Clarice's potential involvement in such atrocities twisted his gut and fragmented his heart into countless shards. Balanced precariously on the brink of losing control, his rationality slipped away, swept aside by the overwhelming torrent of emotion.
Yet, he knew he couldn't act recklessly. Too many influential figures were implicated in these atrocities. Earlier, he had observed the heads of noble families and city mayors lodging within the orphanage—a departure from their usual opulent accommodations. Now, the pieces fell into place.
Struggling to rein in his emotions, Reginald forced himself to calm down. With great effort, he reopened his eyes, masking his turmoil with a gentle smile as he approached the traumatized children. Employing the warmth of his divine power and genuine concern, he delicately probed for information. Sensing his sincerity, the girls, who had endured unspeakable horrors in silence, found solace in his presence and confided in him.
In the safety of Reginald's embrace, the girls released their pent-up emotions, their tears staining his robes. His arms enveloped them protectively, offering comfort as they poured out their anguish. Yet, behind his compassion, his expression remained cold, his eyes reflecting the steely resolve that burned within him.
Realizing that his current power was insufficient to withstand any potential retaliation from the Holy Empire, Reginald grappled with a moral dilemma. The thought of abandoning the children to their fate tore at his conscience, threatening to rend it apart. Unable to bear the weight of guilt that loomed over him, he made a swift decision—to rescue the children from the orphanage.
As this resolve crystallized within him, a newfound understanding blossomed within his heart. His consciousness seemed to meld with his aura core, resonating with the surrounding mana and stirring it into restlessness. When he opened his eyes, he found himself suspended in mid-air, the children stirring awake in response to the sudden disturbance.
Smiling gently at the children, Reginald observed his surroundings with newfound clarity. Everything appeared different, as if veils had been lifted from his perception. Now, he could discern the intricate web of "concepts" that governed the world. With newfound clarity, he willed the fabric of reality to resonate with one of the concepts that he intimately understood—the concept of "mountain."