As Ryan sat on his bunk, he couldn't help but reflect on his situation. *Even though I've convinced myself that I'll survive this training camp, I have no idea how to actually pull it off. The daily training is taking a toll on me, and the other teenagers here have a 15-day head start. They've already formed the habits needed to endure this place, while I'm still struggling to adapt. It'll take me at least 7 to 10 days of forcing myself to get used to this routine. These kids grew up in the slums, where life was already a constant struggle. They're used to fighting, blood, hunger, and hardship. Even though I have a more mature mind, I can't underestimate them. Heroes often emerge from the toughest conditions. And to make things worse, my "golden finger" ability isn't functioning properly. All I know is that it lets me travel to another world, but I have no idea what else it can do.*
An hour passed as Ryan lost himself in thought. Soon, it was time for the weapons training class. The students left their bunks and headed to the training ground, where three instructors were waiting. A weapon stand filled with real swords and daggers stood nearby. Ryan guessed the extra instructors were there to prevent any accidents—or perhaps to stop someone from pulling a stunt like he had earlier. The students lined up as usual.
The instructor in the middle cleared his throat and began speaking. "By now, you've all learned the basics: how to hold a sword and dagger, the proper stances, and the fundamentals of combat. Today, we'll focus on dagger techniques. Daggers are our primary weapon because they're easy to conceal, quick to use, and effective in tight spaces like rooms or taverns. Swords are secondary. Pay close attention."
As he spoke, the other two instructors moved to the sides, keeping a watchful eye on the students. The main instructor continued, "Now, everyone, take two daggers from the stand and stand two meters apart from each other."
The students obeyed, selecting daggers that felt comfortable in their hands. Ryan tried a few before settling on two that felt right. He took his place, noticing that the other two instructors were now holding real swords instead of bamboo sticks. Their sharp gazes occasionally flicked in his direction, making him uneasy.
Once everyone was in position, the main instructor demonstrated how to use a dagger effectively. He showed how to hide it in sleeves, draw it quickly, apply strength, and use proper footwork. After covering the basics, he instructed the students to mimic his movements. For the next hour, the students practiced diligently, following his lead.
"Alright," the instructor said after the hour was up. "I've shown you the basics of dagger combat, and you've practiced a few moves. Now, it's up to you to keep practicing. Don't be lazy—your lives depend on the effort you put in now."
With that, he walked over to Ryan. "So, you're Ryan," he said in a curious tone. "Where did you get the guts to try escaping from here?"
Ryan was startled and immediately tensed up. The instructor's presence felt oppressive, as if his very aura radiated danger. Ryan's body instinctively reacted, tightening as though preparing for a threat. He hadn't felt this way around the other instructors, even when they were close. But this man—his proximity alone was enough to make Ryan feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Seeing Ryan's tension, the instructor gave him a thoughtful look. "You're very sensitive," he remarked. "But don't worry, I won't hurt you. You're the Viscount's property, after all. Being sensitive is good—it can save your life. Just know that no one here will harm you directly. The two idiots who were on night guard duty have already been punished and removed from the camp. However, their friends might make things difficult for you within the rules. I can't stop that."
He paused, then added, "Enough chit-chat. Focus on practicing honestly. Don't try any stunts. I know you've lost your memory, so you'll need to work even harder to keep up. Only 40 of you will graduate. The rest will be killed—five every two months in the exams, and ten in the final exam. Stay alive, and make yourself useful to the Viscount."
With that, the instructor walked away, leaving Ryan both relieved and uneasy. *He's different from the others,* Ryan thought. *At least I got one piece of good news—those two night guards are gone.* Despite his lingering wounds, Ryan threw himself into practicing with the daggers, determined to master the techniques.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the session, the main instructor left. One of the other instructors supervised as the students returned their daggers, ensuring no one tried to sneak a weapon away. Ryan placed his daggers back on the stand, and the instructor scanned him carefully to make sure he wasn't hiding anything.
Afterward, the students returned to the bunkhouse to rest. An hour later, they headed to the cafeteria for dinner. Ryan followed, guessing that dinner was served early. He ate until he was full, then returned to his bunk. As the other students formed groups and chatted among themselves, Ryan lay down and closed his eyes, focusing on the stars in his mind. He needed to figure out how his ability worked—and fast.