Chereads / Abandoned in fantasy world, I will change destiny / Chapter 27 - Training Arc? Chapter 27

Chapter 27 - Training Arc? Chapter 27

Kael stood in the floating village square, the soft breeze tugging at his clothes, the distant hum of the Seraphs at work barely registering in his ears. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Gwenbelle's betrayal, a wound still fresh and festering, gnawed at his thoughts. He had always believed himself untouchable, protected by the might of the Seraphs and Valks, the floating village itself a fortress above the dangers of the world below. Yet here he was, contemplating the possibility of an unseen enemy, one who could strike at him from the shadows.

**I need to be prepared,** Kael thought. **Even if it's just for my own peace of mind.**

He cast his gaze toward the dwarven weapons laid out before him. They were spoils from the ruined outpost, heavy and ornate, forged from dark iron and marked with runes he could barely understand. There was an axe, a sword, and a hammer. Each gleamed in the morning light, promising strength and power.

Kael squared his shoulders, approached the axe, and grasped its handle with both hands. A grim determination set in his face as he attempted to lift it. The blade barely moved. His fingers tightened around the rough wood as he strained, his muscles trembling. **Up it goes,** he thought, pushing through the effort. And then—nothing. The axe didn't budge. 

Sweat beaded on his brow. He let out a grunt, planting his feet wider for better leverage. Another pull. This time the axe did rise—if only a few inches—before Kael's grip faltered, the weight dragging him forward with a thud. He stumbled, nearly toppling over. A few Seraphs hovered nearby, their impassive faces turned toward him, as if watching an awkward performance.

"Alright," Kael muttered, straightening himself. "Maybe not the axe."

He turned to the sword, hoping for better luck. Dwarven steel, well-crafted but not designed with his frame in mind. He picked it up, the blade heavy in his hand, its balance strange. **It can't be this bad,** he thought. But the center of gravity felt all wrong, like holding a sledgehammer by the wrong end. He gave it an experimental swing.

The sword lurched from his hand, spinning awkwardly in the air before landing with a clang several feet away. Kael blinked, staring after it. He rubbed his wrist, feeling the strain.

"Okay, not the sword either."

Finally, his eyes landed on the hammer. He had already guessed what the outcome would be, but his stubbornness got the better of him. Gripping the hammer's hilt, he attempted to lift it. This time, he managed to raise it off the ground, though it felt more like moving a boulder than a weapon. He swung it around in an arc—or tried to. The hammer's weight pulled him sideways, and before Kael knew it, he was spun off-balance, stumbling until he landed flat on his rear.

The hammer fell with a dull thud beside him, the ground trembling slightly from the impact. Kael sat there, staring up at the sky, arms splayed wide as the absurdity of it all began to settle in. He let out a groan, half in pain, half in frustration. **Even if I had my old body, none of this would work. These weapons weren't made for human hands.**

The Valks and Seraphs nearby made no move to assist, their silent gazes somehow making the moment all the more humiliating. Kael could almost hear the imagined laughter of the dwarves who once wielded these monstrosities with ease.

He pushed himself up, dusting off his clothes, the sting of failure burning behind his eyes. **Weapons weren't the answer. Not these, anyway.** But what else could he rely on if another betrayal came from within, or an unseen enemy crept out of the shadows?

As he looked over the weapons again, Kael couldn't help but shake his head, a bitter smile curling at the corner of his lips. **I guess I'm not meant to swing hammers or axes.** At least, not like this.

He needed to rely on himself, to strengthen the very core of his being. His steps were light as he moved to the outskirts of the village, finding an open space where he could begin. Every day, he would rise before dawn, taking advantage of the quiet hours to avoid distraction, knowing he'd be too easily tempted back to the comfort of his quarters if he let the morning slip by. 

On the first day, Kael focused solely on his endurance, beginning with simple laps around the floating village square. His body, still awkward to him in its new form, struggled at first with the unfamiliar sense of movement, but he pushed on. With each lap, his breath came quicker, his muscles strained under the exertion. Yet as his steps grew more certain, his heartbeat steadying into a rhythm, he found a strange comfort in the repeated motion, in the feel of his body's limits and his mind's refusal to acknowledge them. What he'd lost in strength was replaced, in some small part, by an unexpected flexibility, a grace that hadn't been there before.

As the days wore on, the Seraphs continued their work on repairing and calibrating the reactor, every inch of its machinery needing meticulous adjustment. Gwenbelle's theft hadn't just taken the heart of the floating village; it had left Kael's entire operation more vulnerable than it had ever been. The Seraphs, their forms now augmented with dwarven steel salvaged from the ruins, moved in quiet efficiency, carrying blocks of stone and metal, while the Valks patrolled the perimeter, keeping Kael's mind at ease enough to focus on his new routine.

By mid-week, Kael was ready to move on to more than simple running. The Seraphs, responsive to his commands, had crafted a new weapon for him after finding an old dwarven training manual buried in the ruins. In its original state, the weapon had been a twin-bladed axe—a powerful, unwieldy thing that Kael had struggled to handle, its weight too great for his present form. But the Seraphs, in their ingenuity, had modified it into something more suited to Kael's hands: a halberd. The twin blades were thinned and re-shaped, the shaft lengthened for a balance that suited his grip. It was a weapon of deadly grace, and Kael's heart thrummed with excitement at the sight of it.

In his quarters that night, Kael paged through the dwarven manual, its pages rough and ink faded from centuries beneath stone and soil. The dwarves, for all their rigidity, had written with a care that belied their harsh lives. The text described movements designed for heavy, short warriors, and yet Kael could imagine each sequence, picturing himself in the dwarves' place, adjusting where he needed to account for his height and frame. He read through entire passages on breathing techniques, on channeling one's focus, on grounding oneself to the rhythm of a weapon's swing. More than just instructions, the manual held something deeper—a philosophy that resonated with him, a reverence for the power bound to earth and stone.

The training that followed was punishing. The first time Kael took the halberd to the clearing, his body rebelled. Every swing felt unnatural, his arms straining, his feet unsure on the ground. He fumbled through each move, barely managing to keep the weapon from slipping from his grasp. But he refused to yield. Morning after morning, he repeated the exercises, following the dwarves' guidance as best as he could. Each swing of the halberd, though clumsy at first, grew more sure, the weapon becoming less a foreign object and more an extension of his own will.

Every stroke was measured, every movement precise. The halberd's head whistled as it cut through the air, the force of each strike pushing Kael back until he learned to channel his weight, to sink his stance and let the ground support him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders ached, but he pushed on, driven by something deeper than just physical necessity. Beneath the layers of instruction, the dwarves' manual hinted at a form of power, something he'd barely glimpsed until now—a way to draw strength from the very world around him, to bind his own energy to the air and earth and steel.

It was on the fourth day that Kael stumbled across a passage that stopped him cold, his breath catching as he read. The text, faded and worn, described a process of absorbing mana from the natural world—a means of strengthening one's body and soul by grounding oneself within the rhythms of earth and sky. It was a strange, elusive concept, something Kael had only vaguely understood from his limited understanding of magic, but the dwarves had written it with a reverence, a simplicity that stirred something within him. Mana wasn't just a resource to be wielded; it was a force that bound all things, a thread connecting the living and the inanimate. By learning to channel this energy, a warrior could achieve a strength beyond mere physical prowess, a resilience that could only come from within.

The idea fascinated him, filling his nights with study, his days with cautious attempts at channeling this elusive energy. He started small, closing his eyes and letting his awareness stretch out beyond himself, sensing the world around him, feeling the faint pulse of mana in the air, in the soil beneath his feet. It was slow, tentative work, but each small success brought a sense of quiet triumph, a feeling of being bound to something larger than himself.

On the sixth day, Kael finally felt ready to put his skills to the test. He ordered Valk Number One—his most reliable, upgraded with dwarven alloys—to meet him in the training grounds for a sparring session. Valks weren't typically designed for combat training, but Number One had proven adaptable, its movements precise and disciplined, making it a challenging partner. They faced off as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the clearing, Kael gripping the halberd with newfound confidence.

Their sparring began slowly, the Valk moving with deliberate caution as Kael tested his swings, focusing on the balance of the halberd, on keeping his stance steady as he moved. But it wasn't long before the Valk pressed him harder, its attacks sharper, its defenses more calculated. Kael met each strike with determination, his muscles straining as he parried, dodged, and countered. The Valk's sword whistled through the air, and Kael barely managed to sidestep in time, his breath quickening as he adjusted his stance, shifting his grip on the halberd.

Hours slipped by in the heat of the spar, Kael's body pushed to its limits, his mind focused solely on the rhythm of battle. The Valk's movements were relentless, each attack swift and precise, and yet Kael felt himself growing stronger with every exchange, his reflexes sharper, his endurance greater. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, Kael was drenched in sweat, his arms trembling from exhaustion, but his spirit was steady, his resolve unbroken. He'd found a rhythm, a flow to his movements that felt as natural as breathing, a strength that resonated from within.

As he lowered his weapon, panting, he felt a surge of satisfaction, a quiet pride in what he'd achieved. This was only the beginning, he knew, but it was a start. And as he looked out over the floating village, now cast in the golden light of evening, he felt a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in days, a conviction that he could overcome whatever lay ahead.

Meanwhile, the Seraphs had completed the initial calibration of the new reactor, though it was a delicate process, requiring constant adjustment to keep the floating village stable. Gwenbelle's betrayal had left them vulnerable, the very core of their home ripped apart and rebuilt from scratch, but the Seraphs were tireless, their movements precise and efficient as they worked to ensure the village's safety.

The dwarven alloy salvaged from the ruins had proven invaluable, strengthening both Valks and Seraphs alike, giving them a resilience they hadn't possessed before. The Valks now patrolled the surrounding area with renewed vigilance, hunting down stray boars that still roamed the forest, their movements swift and silent as they secured the perimeter.

That evening, as Kael returned to his quarters, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He was still haunted by Gwenbelle's betrayal, the sting of her deceit a constant ache in his mind, but he no longer felt helpless, no longer felt like a victim of forces beyond his control. He had a path forward now, a way to grow stronger, to protect himself and those he cared for.

In the coming days, he would continue his training, diving deeper into the dwarven manuals, pushing his body and mind to their limits. And perhaps, in time, he would find the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead. For now, though, he was content to rest, his heart steady, his mind calm.