The room was silent, save for the soft sound of Emery's breathing beside me. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows on the stone walls. My body ached from the day's work, but my mind was restless, a churn of thoughts and plans I couldn't ignore.
I couldn't sleep. Not yet.
Carefully, I slipped out from under the quilt, making sure not to wake Emery. She stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, but didn't wake. I stood there for a moment, watching her. She looked so peaceful, so vulnerable.
"I'll protect you," I whispered, the words barely audible in the stillness.
With that, I grabbed my tunic and stepped outside.
---
The night air was cold, biting against my skin as I walked toward the barn. The farm was quiet, the only sounds the faint rustle of the wind through the trees and the occasional distant cry of an animal. The sky was a deep indigo, the stars scattered like shards of glass, and the twin moons hung heavy and bright above me.
I took a deep breath, the chill filling my lungs. My body was tired, my muscles sore from the relentless labor, but that didn't matter. I needed to start.
The first step was simple: I had to get this body in shape. It didn't matter how much I knew or how skilled I had been back on Earth—this body was different. Smaller. Weaker. It needed to be rebuilt, trained to handle the techniques I carried in my mind.
I began with static stretches, holding each pose for long counts as I focused on loosening the tightness in my muscles. My legs, shoulders, and back protested with sharp twinges of pain, but I pushed through, my breaths steady and controlled. The cuts on my shoulder and thigh ached, but they had mostly scabbed over, and I could move without too much trouble.
Once I felt loose, I transitioned into dynamic stretches and mobility drills. High knees, arm circles, hip rotations—anything to wake my body up and shake off the stiffness from the day's work. Each movement felt clunky at first, but as the minutes passed, my body began to respond, the motions becoming smoother and more natural.
---
Next came the calisthenics.
I dropped to the ground for push-ups, my hands digging into the cool dirt. The first few were easy, but by the time I reached twenty, my arms were trembling. I pushed through, my jaw clenched, determined to keep going.
Pull-ups were next. I found a low-hanging beam near the barn and gripped it tightly, pulling myself up until my chin cleared the wood. My arms burned, my shoulders screaming in protest, but I didn't stop.
Sit-ups, squats, planks—each exercise was a test of endurance, a battle between my body's limits and my mind's determination. By the time I finished, sweat was pouring down my face, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
But I wasn't done.
I spotted a hay bale near the barn and dragged it out into the open. It was heavy, awkward to handle, but it would do. I hefted it onto my shoulders, the rough straw scratching at my skin, and began a series of squats and presses. The weight was uneven, forcing me to stabilize with every movement, but it was perfect for building strength.
---
After an hour of lifting, I set the bale down and started running.
The cool night air rushed past me as my bare feet pounded against the dirt path. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I kept going, pushing myself harder with each step. The farm blurred around me, the fields and fences fading into the background as I focused solely on the rhythm of my breathing and the pounding of my heart.
When I finally stopped, my legs felt like jelly, and my chest heaved with each breath. I leaned against a fence post, letting the cool air soothe my overheated body.
---
The second phase of training was combat.
I started with the basics—footwork. My feet moved across the dirt in careful, measured steps, mimicking the patterns drilled into me from years of boxing and Muay Thai. Forward, backward, side to side. I repeated the movements until they became second nature, my balance improving with each pass.
Shadowboxing came next. My fists cut through the air, each punch snapping forward with precision. Jab, cross, hook—my muscles remembered the combinations, even if this body struggled to keep up.
I focused on strikes that didn't require my hands. Kicks, knees, and elbows were my priority now—tools I could rely on even when armed. My kicks were clumsy at first, my balance wobbly, but with practice, the movements became smoother.
Grappling was harder. Without a partner, I couldn't drill the techniques properly, but I could still practice the fundamentals. I dropped into a low stance, my weight balanced as I moved forward and backward, imagining the pressure of an opponent. I shot for invisible legs, sprawled against imaginary takedowns, each motion designed to hone my instincts.
---
The final phase of training was with weapons.
I stepped back into the barn and grabbed the weapons I had taken from the goblins—the two crude axes, the spear, and the knife. The weight of them in my hands felt foreign, unfamiliar.
I started with the spear, its length awkward to maneuver at first. I practiced thrusting, spinning, and blocking, each movement deliberate and controlled. It was functional, but it didn't feel natural.
The knife was next. I held it in a reverse grip, slashing and stabbing at the air. It was light, fast, but too small to feel like a primary weapon.
Finally, I picked up the axes. The moment I gripped their handles, something clicked. The weight, the balance, the way they felt in my hands—it was right.
I practiced with them, swinging in wide arcs and sharp chops. They were crude, the edges uneven, but they had potential. I imagined them as extensions of my arms, each strike aimed to disable or kill.
By the time I finished, my body was trembling with exhaustion, my shirt clinging to my sweat-soaked skin. But I felt… good. Alive.
---
As I leaned against the barn wall, the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, the promise of a new day on the horizon.
I looked down at the axes in my hands, their rough handles digging into my palms. This was the start. If I wanted to protect Emery, if I wanted to survive in this world, I couldn't rely on anyone else.
This body was mine to rebuild, and I would make it into a weapon.
With that thought, I headed back to the house, the promise of training fresh in my mind.